


Of Emperors, Empresses, and Vagabonds

by HaroldSaxon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Original Work
Genre: BDSM, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Forced Prostitution, M/M, Minor Loras/Petyr, Mostly Sansa/Petyr, Orgies-because it's ancient Rome, Petyr is a sex slave (in the beginning), Petyr is a social climber and a manipulative fuck, Politics, Revenge, Rome in complete and utter chaos, Sansa is a bit clueless (in the beginning), Sexual Tension, Some Edmure/Petyr, Violence, War, alternative reality - ancient Rome, domSansa, master and slave dynamics, mistress and slave dynamics, occasional kink- because it's ancient Rome, occasional smut, subPetyr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-03-09 17:09:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 68,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13486008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaroldSaxon/pseuds/HaroldSaxon
Summary: A story set in ancient Rome:Sansa is the pampered eldest daughter of Ned Stark, an influential senator and patriarch of one of the oldest and most respected noble families in Rome. She is betrothed to Viserys Targaryen, a nephew of the emperor and his direct heir.Petyr Bealish is a much abused sex slave who was sold into prostitution at a young age. His cruel life experiences have honed his instincts on nothing but survival. Highly intelligent and with a ruthless streak, he is desperate to scrabble his way out of destitution and slavery, and ends up serving the Stark family and Sansa in particular.To Petyr, the Starks are just pawns, and he is willing to justify all means to reach his ultimate goals, until his evolving feelings for his mistress complicates all of his well-laid out plans.This chapter: The arrival of the crown prince and Sansa’s betrothed Viserys Targaryen threatens Petyr’s survival and further complicates the dynamics in the Tully household.





	1. Tokens

**Author's Note:**

> Set in ancient Rome, somewhere in the first century AD. It's history mixed with smut (yeah, Petyr is a sex slave so I can't really write this thing without it) - mixed with romance - mixed with a tale of revenge - mixed with a whole lot of sodding tragedy. Sansa is 16 in the beginning of this fic, and Petyr is 26.
> 
> Emotionally, Sansa starts out as the spoiled, naive and innocent young girl of GOT season 1. Petyr starts out as the young man I imagined he once was directly after his humiliating defeat at the hands of Brandon Stark, full of hidden rage and resentment but finding himself too much at the bottom of the hierarchical ladder to be able to change anything, at least not immediately...
> 
> Mostly written in Petyr's and Sansa's pov. Basically, it's GOT in ancient Rome if GOT was only about Petyr and Sansa, if Petyr met Sansa earlier in his life, and if Petyr had more direct interaction with all of the Starks. I will have to find a way to deal with the names of the different emperors, haven't figured it out yet. Will add tags as we steam along. Hope to update this once in two weeks, alternating with my Mock(ing)bird series.
> 
> And yes - I will try to lighten up and not write everyone into a depression ;)

**Notes:** Suggested music tracks:

**_[Kings, Queen and Vagabonds](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uNBMd9nSB8o&list=RDuNBMd9nSB8o)_ **

_For the whole series_

****

**_[Breath of life](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xOm2fLucQ9g)_ **

_For chapter 1_

 

1.

There once was a large townhouse in Rome situated on the Palatine hill, not far behind the Baths of Augustus, which was well known among the locals as the forbidden house.

It had been long abandoned, the land on which it stood left unclaimed for over more than a decade. Although ownership of it would instantly make you one of the richest men in Rome, no local warlord or wealthy merchant dared to touch it.

Most locals who lived on the Palatine didn’t remember the name of the family that once lived there anymore. The few who still did, would not even whisper it, in fear of the consequences. 

It had belonged to a powerful and wealthy senator, who lived there with his wife and children and his grand household of slaves. He was a honorable man, well-respected and well-liked among his peers and the people. His family’s ancestry had been part of Roman history since the very foundation of the capital.

All that could not protect him from horrible tragedy.

Some say, he and his whole family were murdered at the very site during the last tumultuous days of the reign of the Mad Emperor. Others claimed that they were imprisoned and executed in the arena, to function as a example to the other nobles. The house itself was burnt down, all of the valuable possessions confiscated, and what little remained that was of any worth looted, the walls and floors stripped bare, till there was but a skeleton of scarred wood and stone left standing.

They said that the house was haunted.

A shrunken figure, more skeleton than man, dressed in rags, with his face hidden behind a black mourning shroud, was often seen wandering near the ruin at night, when the air was cold and the sky pitch black. They said it was the spirit of the senator who had returned from the underworld to mourn his family and to exact vengeance on those who had wronged him. On quiet nights, when even the winds were still, you could hear him weep as he wandered through the ruins of his past life.

It was agreed by all that the house was cursed, and would bring bad luck to anyone who had anything to do with it.

So, whatever remained of the once affluent home just sat there, like the bare bleached bones of a great sea monster stranded on shore, forgotten by time, avoided by the living, left to fate or the Gods to decide what to do with it.

On cold evenings, when the moon was new, the senator's ghost would return.

 

2.

Without knocking, Arya burst into her sister’s room and immediate pulled a face when she saw her still sitting at the dressing table with her slave Shae by her side. “Good Gods, are you still not finished?” She groaned. “It’s almost midday. We were supposed to be there before noon.”

Both older girls ignored her. Shae, because it was not her place to directly address the little domina, and Sansa, because she really wasn’t in the mood of having another quarrel with her troublesome little sister right now.

“Are you happy with this now my lady?” The slave girl asked, suppressing a sigh. She held the gilded round mirror in front of her mistress. Sansa turned and bowed her head a little to inspect her hair. It was parted in three, with the sides tied in a bun at the back. The middle part looped back and was raised high, like a beehive. It was known as the nodus style. Currently, this was the very height of fashion among the young aristocratic ladies in Rome. The popular but insanely elaborate hairstyle also took hours to get right, and Sansa’s natural red locks had been subjected to Shae's hot curling irons from early dawn, after which the slave had struggled for hours to bundle the whole thing together with a tight fitting but well hidden hairnet, and a small treasury of gold and silver hairpins. The result was a labor of love that looked absolutely stunning, but despite of this, it still didn’t satisfy or reassured Shae's domina much.

“I am not sure.” Sansa muttered as she turned her head and scrutinized herself in profile. “I am still not happy about this with the necklace.” She placed her fingers on the heavy gold chain with fire-red gemstone pendants that rested in the crevice of her bosom, fumbling it nervously. She gazed up at her trusted slave. “Do you think this matches well with the rest of the outfit?”

She was wearing a silk dress with long embroidered sleeves that was cut low at the back. It was richly decorated with a delicate wolf pattern in gold thread. The lovely pale blue of the dress brought out the deep blue of her eyes. Sansa truly looked the very picture of the goddess of beauty and loveliness. However to her anxious, slightly irrational mind, Sansa might as well had dressed herself in rags with a mad windswept crows nest for hair. Nothing seemed to be good enough, and every funny look Shae gave her, was quickly interpreted as scrutiny. 

“It’s damned ugly, if you want to know what I think.” Arya huffed. She plopped down in an armchair, glaring at her sister with ever growing impatience.

“Nobody wants to know what you think Arya.” Sansa snapped back, sounding just a bit too spiteful to appear ladylike. “Go outside and play with the dogs or something. Leave me alone.”

“I would love to really - if you finally can make up your mind and get your fat ass out of that chair.”

“Arya!” Sansa yelled back, glaring angrily at her through the mirror, but not turning around to face her in fear the whole impressive heap that was currently balancing on her head was going to collapse. “I am not fat! Shae, tell her that I am not!”

“Little domina, your sister is not fat.” Shae sighed, rolling her eyes, as she quickly stuck a couple of more pins in the beehive, just in case her mistress was going to freak out and jump out from her chair, undoing all of her hard work. It was not like it had not happened before.

“Well, you look fat in that dress.” Arya replied, smiling cheekily. The smile immediately vanished from her face and she pressed her lips together, when she saw her lady mother enter the room.

“Mother!” Just what Sansa needed, someone who could tell that little brat to back off. “Arya said I look fat! Tell her I don’t look fat in this! I don’t right?” She added in a softer voice.

“Arya.” Catelyn turned to her youngest daughter and stared at her with a little scowl. “Stop teasing your sister.”

“But she is taking ages!” Arya exclaimed, hardly able to contain her annoyance and excitement any longer. “We’re going to miss it mother! They are going to do the famous fight between Titus Pullo and the Germanic Skull Giant for the play this afternoon in the public gardens and we’re going to miss _everything_!”

“No we won’t.” Catelyne said calmly to reassure her. “The play isn’t going to start before noon, and they always schedule half an hour of poetry reading before the first act. You don’t mind missing that, do you now? Now be a good girl and go play in the garden. I’ll make sure your sister is ready soon.”

Arya rolled her eyes. She jumped out of her chair, and let out an overly dramatic sigh as she walked pass her sister.

“You still look like an old cow.” She muttered under her breath.

“Mother?!” Sansa shot Catelyn a pleading look.

Arya stuck out her tongue at her older sister before she turned and ran away.

“She is a complete menace!” Sansa complained. “She always does these things to spite me!”

“Calm down now my dear.” Cat said, putting her hands on her daughter’s shoulders as she stared at her in the reflection of the mirror. “You know the way she is. Don’t kick up a fuss about it.” She gestured for Shae to leave them alone and gently stroked her daughter’s long red curly locks between her fingers. _She looks so much like me when I was her age._ _Is this how it was for my own mother? One day you hold her in your arms, no more but a precious little babe, and before you know it, 16 summers have passed and you are preparing her to be married off to a man she barely knows._

She sighed, brushing these slightly depressing thoughts aside as she stroked her daughter's shoulders.

“Now what’s the problem with the necklace?” Catelyn had overheard her daughter speak to Shae when she was making her way to Sansa's chamber. “I thought you loved it?”

“Viserys gave it to me. Of course I love it. I just don’t think it fits with the dress.” She fumbled nervously with the delicate silk fabric. “It’s too plain, and the color is all wrong.”

“There is nothing wrong with your dress. It’s a lovely shade of blue and it brings out your eyes. We had it made for you only two days ago. When you tried it on you said you liked it.”

“What about the hair and my earrings? I don’t think they match.”

“They are fine. Stop fretting.” Catelyn replied. If there was anything that did not make sense, it would be the necklace Viserys Targaryen had given her daughter as an official token of their betrothal. It was too heavy, made of a thick golden chain. The Targaryen family sigil, a fearsome dragon emerging from the flames, was clearly visible on every one of the 5 huge gem encrusted pendants. Of course she knew that it was a custom of courtship for her daughter to wear her betrothed's gifts in public, but it did bother her that it should look this hideous, lacking in any modesty and taste, as if the boy wanted to mark her daughter with a gilded slave plaque to let the whole of Rome know that she was soon to be his property.

Sansa was too much occupied by her own worries to notice her mother’s dismay of Viserys’s vulgar gift. “I just don’t want him to think I am ugly.” Sansa muttered, staring at the necklace.

“If that boy would ever think that, seeing you like this, then he is either a fool, or completely out of his mind. I think you look absolutely beautiful.” Catelyn added, with pride and a touch of sorrow in her voice.

“Why would it matter what you think mother?” Sansa blurted out, almost rolling her eyes. “I want _him_ to find me beautiful. I want him to like me. I am to be his wife next year. I want to look pretty for him. What if he thinks that I have no taste whatsoever for picking out these rags?”

Knowing her daughter well, Catelyn sighed deeply. “So you want to change everything again?”

“Please mother.” Sansa looked up at her, smiling sweetly. “Just a little more time. I want to look perfect for him. It’s our first real date together. I don’t want him to remember me looking all horrible. It would absolutely spoil everything.”

“Oh my sweet silly _silly_ girl.” Catelyn sighed. How could she not give in when those azure blue eyes were pleading with her like that. “Half an hour then.” She said, trying to sound strict. “But not a minute longer. Or your little sister is going to go mad as a spring hare.”

 

3.

From his experiences, Petyr knew that there were two kinds of drunks who frequented the brothel: The good kind, who swayed into his cell on unsteady feet, sandals already dangling from their toes, and who collapsed on his stone bed like freshly slaughtered sacrificial oxen. When he helped them to undress, he would find their cocks in a half-limp state, not unlike their owners, and they soon shriveled into uselessness when the clients further drifted off into wine induced stupor. Those were the type of drunks Petyr very much preferred. They often couldn’t remember if they had received what they had paid for after they woke, and more then often, they left his cell without so much as laying a finger on him.

It was the second kind of drunks he absolutely hated and dreaded. They were more often bulkier men, either from the military or farmer profession. They were habitually loud and almost always angry, and in general had no patience whatsoever in their drunken quest to find a slutty hole to fuck. If they did not get what they wanted fast enough, they often did not refrain from using violence.

“Holy Jupiter!" His client grunted. "By Juno’s fucking cunt!” With a sweaty hand, he pulled his tunic further up and took another long swig from his goblet before pouring a good portion of the cheap wine over the naked slave’s backside in what must be the most idiot way to try to lubricate him. “Your hole is too fucking tight!” He exclaimed, tossing the empty goblet away.

Petyr knew that it wasn’t. He had been kept as a sex slave in the brothel of Gaius Dominicus for more than a decade and had been fucked most thoroughly by almost anyone who had a cock in nearby Subura. Say what you may think of it, but it was certainly not that _tight_ anymore.

 _Ever considered that it is your cock that is too fat?_ Petyr thought, trying to shift his lean, almost emaciated body under the client’s impressive weight. _Or maybe you’re just too drunk to be able to find it, even if it was the size of an elephant’s cunt._

He didn’t say it out-loud though. There had once been a time, when he was still a scared and thoughtless, little idiot of a boy, when he would have said it right in his client's face, but his master and his vicious slave supervisor had both quickly beaten and whipped that insolent streak out of him most efficiently.

“Too fucking tight!” The drunk bellowed again, pulling Petyr closer by yanking on the chains of his rusted dog collar in a clumsy effort to force his way in. Petyr gasped when the hold of the metal around his neck became too tight to breathe, but his client was completely oblivious to his struggles. The grasp of his large sweaty hands now dug like talons into his buttocks, the man’s fat cock pounded into him like it was a wooden pole being drilled into the ground.

Still failing to gain even an inch more, his client then pushed his dry fingers in, and ran it along the side to make it wider. Despite the pain, Petyr had to give it to the drunk brute, he was rather persistent. Then he winced and bit on his under lip, feeling something tear as the swollen head was forced through. His client, believing that he was finally getting somewhere, started pounding even harder, forcing the slave to suck in his cries to not spoil his patron’s mood. For a while, it all seemed to finally go according to the larger man’s satisfaction, when during one of his clumsy thrusts, his cock slipped in at an odd sore angle and remained stuck again. The drunk cursed loudly, and Petyr saw from the corner of his eyes his client’s hand reach out for the sheathed dagger that still hung from his belt. Petyr’s heart leaped in his throat. He knew where this was heading. He still carried the scars near the pink delicate flesh of his sphincter from the last time this happened. Something had to be done, and it had to be done quick.

Petyr leaned forward and dislodged himself from the larger man in such haste that his client fell backward. As he lost balance, he still tried to hold on to him, but Petyr, with his backside covered in oil and drenched in sweat, slipped away like a slick eel wriggling out of a fishing pod.

“How _dare_ you!” The client huffed, his voice a low, angered growl. “I wasn’t yet finished!”

As he raised his hand to strike him, Petyr quickly dropped down on his knees and held his hands up pleadingly.

“Please forgive me dominus.” He told him, his head down, his grey green eyes cast to the ground. “I just wanted to make sure that you’re comfortable and are enjoying yourself.”

“No I am not! You worthless bum boy!” He said, slurring in his speech. “You’re fucking too tight. I need a bigger hole.” He slapped hard on the slave’s buttocks and took his dagger out. “Turn around.” He ordered with the blade already pointed at Petyr.

“Dominus.” Petyr tried, too busy trying to safe himself to notice the sting. “I can assure you, there are better ways for me to please you. You don’t _need_ to do this.”

The brutal slap that he received on his cheek in response almost knocked him off the bed.

“What!? I am not going to let a piece of worthless filth bugger me!” The larger man huffed with much indignation, after he had drawn his own conclusions. “How _dare_ you to even suggest this?!” Almost vibrating of rage, he tried to force the slave around to cut him, but Petyr was younger and much quicker then the big clumsy oaf, and managed to keep away from his grasping hands. Instead, he slipped on the floor and kneeling, he hastily took hold of his client’s knees and shoved them far apart, before he placed himself between his legs.

His client watched with astonishment how the slave’s damp black curls ducked between his thighs.

“What are you doing you little sh-“

What followed was a succession of broken gasps when Petyr took his fat swollen organ in his mouth. Skillfully, he worked on him. He slipped his talented tongue under his shaft and guided the tip deep inside his throat, till the man fell back on the stone bed, his eyes rolling backwards and loud moans escaping his throat while he let his dagger drop from his hand.

After that, it didn’t take Petyr long to make him come.

For the rest of the afternoon, the dreadful dagger was left forgotten on the floor. The bad drunk had transformed into a good, very _unconscious_ drunk, who snored all of his paid time away in the dark dank cell and otherwise remained harmless to Petyr. Quietly, he watched him sleep. Tucked away in the opposite corner of his small prison, he was careful not to make any noise with his long chain that bound his collar to the iron grid of the small window near the ceiling.

Pensively, Petyr glanced at the cracked ceramic bowl that was placed on the floor near the curtained doorway. It already contained 4 tokens. They were little more than wooden sticks branded with his master’s insignia, but to Petyr they meant everything. He only needed one more, which he was about to receive from the offensive drunk once he had risen from his stupor. It seemed that tonight, at least, he did not need to go to bed starving. He looked up to the tiny window in his cell. It was a beautiful day outside. The tiny patch of sky that was visible to him was a clear cloudless blue. A small genuine smile worked its way across his face.

It was on rare days like these that Petyr thought that the spirits of his ancestors were smiling down on him.

 

4.

As soon their litter arrived at the entrance of the Porticus of Livia, Arya darted away into the closed off public garden, dragging her dear mother along to go see the ghastly play. Sansa was left with her chaperone, an old house slave named Septa, who was virtuous and loyal, and well trusted by her mother. Sansa felt her belly tighten when she made her way down the shady arcade to the mulberry orchard where she was supposed to meet Viserys. When she finally saw him lounging in his small private litter in the shades of the trees, surrounded by two of his household slaves, her heart rate picked up pace.

The young noble looked up at her, and greeted her with an amused smile. “You look very well my lady.” He said.

“You’re too kind.” She replied with a generous smile.

He looked so handsome with his beautiful white hair and his pale porcelain complexion, his perfect pink lips smirking at her. She gracefully offered her hand to him, which he took and kissed most affectionately. Sansa felt a tingling sensation shiver down her spine.

“I see you are wearing the necklace that I have offered to your father for your hand.” He gestured to his slave to bring her a comfortable chair.

“Yes, thank you so much for your gift.” Sansa replied while she sat down. “It’s very beautiful. I absolutely adore it.”

“Good.” Viserys gazed up at Sansa’s chaperone. “Does she need to stay with us?”

“My lady mother wants it so.” Sansa replied, a tad flustered.

“Oh come on. We’re not infants anymore. Besides, we’re betrothed. You will be my wife soon. Surely I can have one private meeting with my soon to be bride without some old hag watching over us.”

Of course it was ridiculous that her mother had insisted for Septa to come along. She wasn’t a babe anymore. She didn’t need anyone to look after her. Sansa squirmed when she realized how incredibly childish she must look to him.

“You can go.” Sansa told the old slave woman without turning around to look at her.

“But domina said I should stay with you.” Septa objected.

“Just go already.” Sansa urged, feeling her cheeks flush red in embarrassment.

“Mistress, I really don’t dare.” Septa replied.

Viserys stood up and slapped the old slave in the face. "You stupid old hag, be gone with you! Or I swear I will have you flogged.”

Sansa tried to stay calm. Of course Viserys's sudden outburst had rattled her, but it was hardly the first time she had seen a slave being chastised by her betters. _Father always says that a good dominus must never spare the whip._ She reminded herself. _He says that slaves are like children, if you don’t correct their wrongs, they will ruin themselves. Viserys was just teaching her to not be disrespectful.  
_

“So my lady.” Her betrothed sat down again and snapped his fingers to receive a cool wet towel from his slave to wipe his face and hands. “Finally, we are alone and free to speak our mind.”

“It’s a very good idea of you to invite me to the gardens today.” Sansa said, smiling again. She wasn’t going to let that little unfortunate incidence spoil her date with him. “It’s such a lovely day.”

“Yes, I guess it is.” He crossed his legs and draped his arms over the back of his seat. “I wanted to see you and get to know you a little better before we are officially wedded and bedded.” he studied at her, slowly cocking his head to one side. It was difficult for her to make out if he liked what he saw or not. “I’ve only looked at you from afar, during one of your father’s dinner parties. You look quite _nice_ from a distance –“

Sansa winced at the word. _Nice looking? Is that all what he thinks of me?_ Nice is just one step away from being “plain” or worse “acceptable”. Nice was not going to be enough to make him love her the same way she believed she loved him. Sansa sucked in a breath to keep herself from succumbing to something quite similar to a panic attack. Being called _nice_ was a total _disaster_.

Viserys had hardly noticed anything of her distress. “-but you never know.” He continued, waving his hand in a dismissive manner. “One doesn't want to buy a lame horse - or an ugly wife.” He added with a grin.

“D-do you think I am ugly, my lord?” She asked fearfully. _Oh Gods! If he says I am, I am going to die, right here._

“Huh? No, no, absolutely not.” Viserys replied, still not having a clue what he was doing to her. “You’re quite a fetching creature, far better than I’ve imagined really. Most of the girls of the noblest families of Rome are either too fat, or too thin or too dull looking, as if, as a rule of law, the money and titles attached to them have to compensate for what kind of horrendous injury they are to the eyes.” He leaned forward, his blue eyes locked with hers. “But you…you have something _deliciously wicked_ about you. You look like the sea in winter, calm on the surface, but such secretive turbulence flows underneath the waves.” She trembled ever so slightly when he took her hand again and traced his thumb over the fine lines of her palm. “You look like the sort of girl who could devour a man in her bedchamber…” He liked his soft pink lips and glared at her. “Tell me my lady, what do you like?”

“W-what I like?” Sansa muttered.

“Yes.” Viserys said, still glaring at her with a predatory look in his eyes. “What do you like to do when you’re at home.”

“Well-“ Sansa tried, still not having a clue what he was on about. “I like to read. I like to write poetry. I am very good at sowing and embroidery.” Carefully, she spread out her sleeve to show him the little direwolf that she had created in gold thread. “I’ve made this myself. The pattern was quite difficult, but my slave Shae helped me with it.” She told him with a touch of pride. When he didn’t respond, she quickly added. “I-I also like singing, although I am not very  good at it yet. I do take lessons, to improve my voice.”

“Rrrright, and what do you like to do in the evenings my lady?” He asked, not wanting to give up so easily.

Sansa was now really starting to get confused. His dream prince was asking her all these questions about her and when she truthfully answered he seemed so incredibly bored. She had no idea why. “The same things I suppose. Although I also do enjoy dancing a great deal, especially at my father’s dinner parties.”

She felt her cheeks flush hot again when her betrothed clearly rolled his eyes at her.

“No you silly goose -" He commented, rather rudely. "What do you like to do in bed, when you’re alone?”

“R-Read poetry?” She really thought she was break down in tears soon. “If-if the light is not too bad.”

“You are very green aren’t you?” He snapped, leaning back in his litter, suddenly losing all interest to push further. “How old are you again?”

“16 my lord.”

“16? Really?” He eyed her up and down. “I thought you were much younger. Most of the girls of your age are already married.”

“My father did make a match for me with the son of senator Antonius Albus when I was 14, but due to circumstances, it didn’t come to pass.”

“Senator Albus? oh I do remember him. Wasn’t that the guy with the big nose and the shrieky voice? I used to hate it when he spoke in the senate. It’s like listening to a trained parakeet for hours without end.” He paused when he thought of something. “My uncle...he executed him, didn’t he?”

“Yes, the emperor put him on trial and he was found guilty of treason. They…crucified him.” Sansa still remembered it well, because her father had tried to plead to the emperor to spare him from such a gruesome death. It was against Roman law to execute a Roman citizen in such a horrific way. Normally, crucifixion was only reserved for criminal slaves. The emperor must have hated poor senator Albus with a passion.

“Yes." Viserys snapped his fingers as he remembered. "That's correct! The old bore was crucified, as was the rest of his household. So…you were very un-lucky.” Viserys looked at her pensively. It was one thing to marry an old bride, but to marry one who could bring such bad luck to his family…

“My mother has consulted the Vestals. They said that with the blessings of Venus and Mars, our new union will be an auspicious one.” Sansa hastened to say. This time, she knew what he was thinking.

“Right. It does explain your age, but not your naivety.” Viserys muttered.

Sansa was getting quite despondent. “Shall I read to you my lord?” She opted, trying to change subject. “I have written a poem yesterday. The mulberry tree in our garden was in full bloom, like these ones here, and it was such a beautiful sight. I felt I had to put down something to commemorate it. Do you want to hear what I have composed?”

“No thanks.” Viserys said, not looking at her. “I _detest_ poetry. It’s utterly boring.” His gaze, after having wandered all over the garden, was set on a young slave girl who was taking a stroll with her mistress. He gestured at one of his men to come to him. “You see that young nymph over there.” He said to him. “The one with the lovely eyes? Ask her mistress how much she costs and bring her to me tonight together with that Nubian girl.” His slave bowed deeply and was about to rush off when he beckoned him back. “Make sure she is clean before you buy her. Otherwise don’t bother.”

“Yes dominus.”

Sansa felt so upset and humiliated that she could hardly keep her calm and polite appearance any longer.

“I was just arranging a little entertainment for tonight’s dinner. My friends are coming over.” Viserys explained in a matter of fact voice.

“W-would you like to take a stroll in the garden my lord?” She asked, forcing a smile, while fighting against her tears as she fumbled with her sleeves in her lap.

“No, it’s far too hot. I don’t want to end up sweating like a pig again. I just came from the baths." Then after a brief awkward pause. "There is a play in the atrium this afternoon. We could go see it. Sit in the shade together. They say it’s quite good. It’s an enactment of the famous fight between Titus Pullo and that large Skull giant that happened last year in the Colloseum. They got a dwarf to play Pullo and a real tall fellow to play the other one. It should be much more entertaining than this.”

He stood up and offered her his hand, which she took.

“Get the dark one over there too.” Viserys told his slave when he returned, his eyes already set on a new olive skinned slave girl who he saw reading to her mistress in the shade. “I like the way she rolls her tongue over her lips.” he added.

 

5.

Somehow, Petyr managed to keep smiling politely at the drunken fool as he rose back on his feet in a pace that was not unlike that of a snail trying to crawl out of a gutter. _Come on you big fat time-waster. You spent the entire afternoon snoring on my bed and now the sun is almost completely down. Get out already._

His smile dropped when he saw the client leave his cell, parting the raggedy curtains without dropping a wooden token into his bowl.

“Dominus!” Petyr came after him as far as his chains allowed. “Forgive me, but are you not forgetting something?”

“What?” His client said, half turning around in the outside corridor.

“The token. The one my supervisor gave you at the counter.” Petyr pulled on his chains, half leaning out of his cell. “You need to drop it into this bowl here.”

The larger man pursed his fat lips and patted over his belt and pockets. “Can’t find it.” He replied after he had hardly bothered to look. “I must have lost it somewhere.”

“Well, it’s definitely not in here.” Petyr said, raising his eyebrows and forcing himself to keep smiling courteously, and not sarcastically. He was right. His cell was completely bare, except for the stone bed and the bowl. There was no place to lose the damn thing, even if you were a complete clueless cretin, like the big lumbering log standing right in front of him. “Please sir. Take a better look." He urged. "You have to give me a token. They won’t know that I have received you if you don’t.”

“I don’t give a fuck about that. I paid didn’t I? That’s enough. And you weren’t that good anyway.” He wobbled away from Petyr’s cell. “Trant!" He shouted at the slave supervisor of the brothel. "You old dog! Next time, give me something younger and more loose! My heart almost gave up trying to screw that scrawny little thing.”

Petyr slowly counted to 20, and glanced down the narrow corridor to make sure the obnoxious git had really left before he uttered a harsh scream. _Not that good? Go try and find someone else who can swallow that disgusting cock of yours without choking on it you son of syphilitic whore!_ _May the Gods give you warts on your cock and may your balls drop off next time you visit a brothel!_

Frustrated, he kicked against the grid that separated his cell with the adjacent one. It startled the slave girl next door, who uttered a shriek of fright in response.

“Is your crazy acting up again Littlefinger?” Petyr sucked in a deep breath and immediately stopped when he heard someone chuckling behind him. “Do you need me to remind you how to behave?” The slave supervisor said, standing in the doorway with his hand on his whip.

“Trant.” Petyr turned around to face him. "I need another client.”

“It’s well past the 11th hour*. Surely, there aren't any more coming for today. How many tokens do you have?"(*around 5 in the afternoon)

“Four.”

“Well, close then, but not close enough." Trant said with a smirk.

“I _had_ 5 clients. The last one didn’t give me a token.”

“Yeah right.” Trant answered. “I know you a little longer than today Littlefinger. Go try to fool someone else.”

“I am serious! He kept me busy the whole afternoon and I wasn’t paid for it. Look.” Petyr strained his chains as he tried to get closer to plead with him. “Just for once, can you not be lenient?”

Trant kept grinning at him. “You need to get at least 5 to get fed.”

“For fuck’s sake! I told you I _had_ 5\. Come on, show a bit of mercy, I haven’t eaten for four long days.”

“I don’t see how that would be my problem?” Still that loathsome little grin. No doubt he was enjoying himself immensely.

“I’ll suck your cock.” Petyr offered, his grey green eyes staring at him.

Trant thought about it for a moment, just to waste time and make Petyr suffer. “Nah-" He finally said, pulling his belt up from his waist. "I just had a good go at that Gippo slut from three doors down. Don’t want to tire myself too much.” Without his grin leaving his face, he suddenly took his whip out and cracked it down on Petyr’s left thigh. Petyr winced. The nasty blow was not vicious enough to leave a mark, but it was still very painful. “Cheer up.” Trant told him before he left. “You have four, so at least you’re not going to get completely trashed by me.”

Petyr slowly rubbed over his aching thigh and sank down on the floor while he silently cursed that obnoxious brute under his breath. His empty stomach growled loudly, as if his hunger had been amplified by his disappointment and anger. He wondered, had he not looked forward so much to finally be fed a meal tonight, would he still be so horribly upset about it. His stomach certainly seemed to think so. Unable to pacify it in any other way, Petyr finally crawled to his bowl and took out a dry loaf of bread hidden underneath. It was little more than half the size of his hand, and was months old, stubborn as rock. Somehow, despite being bone dry, it still managed to mold. Petyr wet his lips and nibbled on the fuzziest corners. He was so hungry, he wanted to shove the whole thing in his mouth in one go, but he was too afraid to finish all of his rations. Trant was a real cruel bastard, and wouldn’t mind starving him for weeks. He had seen it happen to others before.

He really had been here for far too long.

A flickering light poured through the iron grid that partially covered the wall partition between his and the neighboring cell. His neighbor had lit an oil-lamp to receive a late visitor. Soon after, he heard laughter coming from the client and the young Celtic slave girl that he was about to bed.

The girl had arrived only 4 months ago. She had wept for 2 of those, was which about average for any new arrival. Petyr himself had kept it at 3, although he had been much younger then she was when he was first sold into prostitution, so perhaps the comparison wasn’t entirely fair. Besides, except for a few occasions in which his master and henchman had been truly exceptionally cruel to him, he had managed to keep his eyes dry ever since. Petyr had long learned the hard way to never let it get that far. Succumbing to grief and self-pity was not the way to survive in a place like this. Hidden resentment and rage proved far better aids to him.

Similar to Petyr, the Celtic girl also appeared to be a quick learner. She moaned like a pro, and occasionally even managed to sound like she really enjoyed it. Nymph-like, with her hay colored hair cut short, and with small almost non-existing breasts, she proved very popular with those who preferred young boys. Petyr knew that he was too old. The men who came to the brothel preferred the very young, and for them, at 26, he was practically over the hill. He would have been discarded by now, sold to the stone quarries by his master years ago, if it wasn’t that he naturally looked younger than his age. Still, strands of grey were starting to show at his temples, and the first fine lines were appearing on his face. If Trant didn’t let him shave, a thin rugged beard would appear within 2 days, making him look like a full adult. It was not difficult to imagine why the boyish, child-like creature in the cell next door had stolen away so many of Petyr’s old clients since she turned up here.

Petyr may have lived a truly miserable life in the brothel for the past 16 years, but he never really had to starve before if he did his job right. But now, he frequently found himself going to bed hungry. His belly, never much to begin with, had shrunken considerable during the last few months, till it appeared hollow, even when he was sitting. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he was close to looking sickly. That was very dangerous, for it was one thing to remain lean to look youthful, but if he looked too weak, or may merciful Eleos forbid, he really became ill, none of the clients would have him, and then his master would not think twice to dispose of him. Petyr knew he would never survive long if he was sent to do hard labor in the stone quarries. With his natural wiry frame and lack of muscular build, he probably won’t even last a week.

Chewing on his meager ration, he listened quietly to the fake excited shrieks coming from next door. His grey green eyes then fixed on the slave girl's wooden bowl that he could see right through the iron grid partition. He could not make out how many tokens she had collected for today, but it must be more than what he had. The token of her current client lay on the floor in front of her stone bed, right next to his discarded sandals and tunic.

He kept staring at it for a long time. Then, by chance, a kick of her client’s feet sent the token flying nearer to a hole in the grid. It was, perhaps, even near enough now for him to get hold of it. Quick and agile like a cat, he reached out and snatched it, and without a second thought, he threw it into his own bowl.

Unseasoned and perhaps also lacking much in wisdom because of her young age, the Celtic girl quickly got herself in a quarrel with her client, reproaching him loudly not being unable to find her token. Petyr winced when he heard her getting beaten up by the brute. She cried after her client had left, lamenting in her native tongue for an hour or so, with some broken Latin mixed into, just enough to make Petyr aware that she was also cursing like an old fishwife. Much to Petyr’s annoyance, when it was time for their supervisor to do his round and feed the slaves, she was still at it.

“Just hand me the tokens Littlefinger.” Trant said, looking annoyed. “You don’t need to hold out your bowl to me if you don’t get fed.”

Petyr held out all of his tokens to show him. “I have five." He said with a smirk. "So you do need the bowl.”

“How in the name of Caerus’s lucky cock did you get the last one?” Trant sneered. “You said you had only 4 just an hour ago. You didn’t receive any more clients.”

“I miscounted.” Petyr said, his smirk turning into a broad smile.

Trant stared at him, then he noticed that the girl next door was weeping. He parted the curtains of her cell to check on her. Noticing her black eye and the bruises on her face, and quickly counting the tokens in her bowl, he finally put 1 and 1 together. “Right. I don’t know how you did it, but you are a fucking asshole Littlefinger.” He said with a loathsome, mean little grin.

Petyr just smirked back at him. Coming from a selfish worm like Trant, the insult was practically a complement. “Food please, and would you be so kind to scrape it a little bit closer from the bottom this time.”

Trant just glared at him while he filled Petyr’s bowl with stew. He was extra careful to ladle from the top so it would be thin and watery. Petyr kept smirking at him, for he had not expected anything else from that swine. For a moment, he feared Trant would drop his bowl, just to spite him, but he managed to get hold of it before the evil bastard could think up of something so cruel.

“Enjoy it while you can. Who knows when you’re going to be that lucky again.” Trant told him, and tossed a piece of bread at his feet.

Petyr quickly grabbed hold of the fresh bread and dunked what was left of the old one in the stew before stuffing it in his mouth. He was still chewing and swallowing it down when he heard Trant visit the slave girl next door, yelling harshly at her to shut up. He must have whipped her too, for she cried out frightfully. Petyr tried not to listen to it, and kept slurping down the stew as fast as he could, but somehow, it did somewhat spoil the meal for him.

“Shut the fuck up will you!?” Petyr sneered, kicking at the grid partition after Trant was gone.

The slave girl cursed him loudly in her native tongue, and cried out the Latin word for thief.

“Shut up!” Petyr repeated. Then, a little less harsh, he added; “Shut up...if you do, I share my meal with you.”

He had not really expected that she would listen to him, but she actually did, and the sobbing stopped. Much annoyed, and already regretting that he had offered, Petyr looked down at his bowl. There was still one third of the stew left. He was so hungry that he could almost faint, but he took what was left of the small piece of old moldy bread, soaked it in the stew, and ate it. Without giving it a second thought, he pushed the rest of it through the hole in the grid. _I’m going to count to ten. If she doesn’t take it, I am going to grab it right back._ He told himself. But petite hands, thin and trembling, hastily picked it up and took it out of his sight. Petyr groaned but otherwise said nothing. He took whatever was left of the fresh bread and hid it in a gap between his bed and the wall.

Mercifully, he didn’t hear anything from her again for the rest of the night.

 

6.

“Can you please stop laughing! It’s not funny.” Sansa pleaded with Margaery, scowling at her best friend.

The two girls were sitting together, looking out over the beautiful garden in the back of the enormous townhouse of Margaery’s family. It was late in the afternoon, and the sun was setting, casting it’s warm glow over the elaborate paintings and mosaics of flowers and fruit trees that decorated the walls of the sun room that was open to the covered walk surrounding the garden. It was Margery’s favorite place in the house, far away from the busy atrium where the slaves were busy with their chores, and from her father’s noisy tablinium where he received his guests and clients.

“Did you really tell him you like reading poetry in bed?” Margaery asked, giving her friend a naughty smile before she popped a piece of cooked honeyed quince into her mouth. “Oh I can imagine his face!” She laughed giddily, hiding her smile behind her hands.

“How was I supposed to know what he meant!? He could have been a little bit more specific.”

“Well, even if he was, my poor friend here would not have known how to answer him anyway.” Margaery teased.

“You were supposed to console and advice me, not mock me.” Sansa lamented. A slave passed by and offered her a golden plate piled high with figs filled with sweetened curd cheese, but she waved it away. She was way too upset to eat anything. “It was a complete disaster. I had my first date with my beloved Viserys and I bored him so much that he actually yawned! And he didn’t even notice the dress I have especially let made to look extra nice for him. Oh Margaery, please stop laughing now. I feel like a complete idiot.”

“I am sorry.” Margaery replied, trying to stop a string of giggles. “I told you, no matter how much clothes you put on and how good it looks, men only want quite the opposite. If you want our young dashing Targaryn lord to pay more attention to you, you should have gone to him wearing no dress at all.”

“Stop it!” Sansa blushed. “Honestly, I don’t know why I even put up with you. You have a mind like a gutter.”

“It’s the truth. You know it is.” Margaery replied, picking a plump deep red grape from the vine.

“What am I going to do?” Sansa panicked. She gazed into the garden, sighing deeply. “We have another date next week. I don’t want to bore him to death again. We have absolutely no shared interests what so ever. He doesn’t like poetry or reading or taking strolls in the garden. He only wants to talk about things I know absolutely nothing about. How am I supposed to keep him happy?”

“My dear friend-“ Margaery said, taking her hands and squeezing them lightly. “Do you want help?”

“Yes! Of course I do, but…how exactly?...how can you help?”

“Well, judging from what I have heard from you, he does have a strong interest in something that might interest you too, if only you would give it try.”

“Margaery…you don’t mean…”

Her friend smiled knowingly, crossing her legs as she sat back. “I learned a great deal about it because of Loras.”

“Loras?” Sansa wrinkled her nose. “Oh Gods, you don't mean you two are –“

“What? Oh no! No, absolutely not. Eew! Whose mind is in the gutter now? No, what I meant was that Loras often hires slaves from the local brothels. He let Calvus find them and brings them here to entertain him."

“You’re joking?” Sansa blurted out, completely astonished. “He is bringing them here? To your parent’s house?”

“What’s wrong with that?” Margaery shrugged, nibbling on a piece of sweet wine cake.

“Everything! If one of my brothers would dare to do such a thing my mother would die of shame, and my lord father would definitely lose it and discipline him for it.”

“Why?”

“Why? We’re part of a noble family with a well-respected name. We shouldn’t do such scandalous things.”

“Well, our family, like the Starks, are also well-respected in Rome, but my father doesn’t make a fuzz it about. In fact, grand-mamma actually prefers it this way. She says she then has a change to keep an eye on what Loras is up to.”

“Your family is so strange.” Sansa sighed, shaking her head in utter disbelief.

“No. My family is very practical _and_ open minded. Believe me, we are really not the only ones from the aristocracy in Rome who hold orgies on a regular basis to entertain ourselves and our guests. In fact, from what I have heard, your beloved Viserys, is actually a real connoisseur of such matters. It seems that the young Adonis cannot skip one night without calling prostitutes to his chambers.”

“That’s a lie. It must be.” Sansa object, getting quite upset again. “Where did you hear it from?”

“My aunt, who heard it from a freedman, who heard it from a house slave of the Targaryen family.”

“It’s probably just stupid gossip.”

“It might be, it might not be.” Margaery leaned closer to Sansa and whispered: “They also say that he has the bedroom manners of an insatiable wild animal. So… you better be prepared, don’t you think?”

Sansa felt her cheeks burn. “How can I prepare for it?” She blurted out. "I thought we were not supposed to learn or even think about these things till we are properly married.”

My darling friend-“ Margaery tutted, shaking her pretty head. “Your mother and father really have something to answer for. What were they thinking when they turned you into such a naïve young lamb.” She sat back in her chair, leaning her slender back against the soft velvet cushions. “Tell you what, Loras has his friends from academy coming over for dinner tomorrow. He is planning to hold a small party in the evening and will be providing the appropriate entertainment. If you want to learn anything about these matters, you are more than welcome to join us.”

But, if it’s for Loras and his friends, the party will only have girls. What can I learn from any of them?”

For a moment, Margaery just stared at her with a look of complete astonishment on her pretty face, then she burst out in giddy laughter.

“What?” Sansa asked, feeling every bit the fool.

“Believe me my sweet _sweet_ Sansa, there are ways to enjoy yourself with these girls, even if you do share similar anatomies.” She caught the look Sansa was giving her and she tried to regain some of her posture to not further embarrass her. “But I can assure you, my brother will certainly also ask for boys. In fact, I think he has a slight preference for them. I can help you find one who’s suitable, and then you can - you know - stay the night at our house to enjoy him. What do you think?”

“Sex with a slave?” Sansa said, making a face. “I think it’s quite shocking! That's what I think! And it is dangerous.”

“I didn’t mean actual sex. Good Gods, you don’t want him to enter you, and risk dealing with his bastard child in 9 months time to dispose of. No, I mean you can enjoy yourself in many different ways with a slave without ever running the risk of getting pregnant.”

Really?” Sansa furrowed her brows. She still found the very thought of it quite improper, but some darker and more rebellious part of her was also very much intrigued by the idea, particularly now with her future love life with her beloved Viserys on the line. If there was a way to do this without any real consequences, she was very tempted to give it a try. “How?”

“Well-“ Her friend replied with an alluring little smile. “That’s something for you to find out.”

 

7.

The next day was as worthless as the previous one. By the end of the long afternoon, Petyr only had gathered 4 tokens, enough to prevent a good lashing, but not enough to get another bowl of measly stew. When Trant showed up to collect the tokens, Petyr had to restrain himself to not clench his fist and hit him right in his smug grinning face.

“Four.” Petyr said moodily, holding it up for him to see.

With hindsight, Petyr could have expected it. In the late afternoon he did notice that Trant entered the Celtic slave girl’s cell and didn’t leave again until a full hour later. But he had been too busy with a client to follow any of the conversations that went on between them. So when Trant took all of Petyr’s tokens and tossed them a door further down in the Celtic slave girl’s bowl, it still somewhat came as a nasty surprise to him.

‘What the hell did you just do?” Petyr asked.

“Nothing.” Trant shrugged, faking innocence, and crossing his bulky arms over his chest. “Oh look at that. You don’t seem to have any clients today.” He commented, nodding his head at Petyr’s empty bowl.

“What are you talking about? You just took all of my tokens and gave it to that whore next door!”

Trant didn’t answer him, but kept grinning his smug little grin right into Petyr’s face.

Petyr gazed up at the ceiling and sighed when he guessed what had been happening behind his back.

“I see.” He muttered. “And?” He asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Was her cunt actually any good?”

“Better than your asshole.” Trant grinned. “Otherwise she wouldn’t have gotten what? 9 tokens?” He shook his head, mocking him. “Now that’s impressive. That girl really knows how to be efficient. I wonder what our dominus would think though, when he reads the ledger tonight and finds out about your disappointing contribution.” He clicked with his tongue. “I think you better prepare yourself for a very sore backside.”

“You can’t do this.” Petyr objected, shaking his head, and smiling defensively like a man with a nasty toothache, not wanting Trant to know that he was upsetting him. “I am going to get lashed till my whole back is open when he thinks I have not made him a single coin.”

“You should have worked harder.” Trant said, laughing while he turned around and started walking away from his cell.

“Wait, wait!” Petyr rushed after him, straining his chains till he felt his dog collar tightening around his throat. “I’ll do anything. Anything you want. Please, at least put me down for 3. I really don’t want to get thrashed again.” He finally admitted, no longer smiling, and so very very scared. Last time he was flogged he couldn’t sit or lie down for a month. In his current weakened state, it was going to finish him.

“You got nothing I want Littlefinger.” Trant told him. “You should have offered it to me a couple of years earlier, before you started to become a real pain in the ass.”

“Trant!” Petyr shouted down the corridor, getting desperate, but unable to rush out any further with the dog-collar choking him. “Please! You can’t do this to me! Trant!”

He heard the slave girl next door laugh at him loudly.

“You mean fucking bitch!” He swirled around and started thrashing the grid partition. “You serpent whore! I only took one from you! I am going to be whipped to death for this! I should have let you _fucking_ starve!”

 _Go to hell._ Came her defiant reply in broken Latin.

“Shut up Littlefinger!” Trant barked from behind the counter. “We got a late costumer! Behave yourself you stupid lunatic!”

Petyr immediately stopped and rushed out. Leaning as far out of the doorway as his chains allowed, he peered around the corner to find out who was there.

“So?” He heard Trant say to the young man, who was dressed in a green tunic, and wore a slave’s plaque with a rose emblem around his neck. “Are you looking for something specific? Do you actually have money to pay for our services?” Trant added, almost sneeringly.

The suspicious look Trant gave to the young slave didn’t trouble him at all. “I am here on the orders of my master Loras Tyrell.” He proclaimed in a clear voice, standing stiff and straight as if his dominus was here and was scrutinizing his bearings. “I am to hire slaves to provide the entertainment for his dinner party tonight.”

“Oh well, then you have come to the right place.” Trant said, his stance immediately softening when he realized that the slave would spend his master’s coins. “We have all types here, and for a reasonable price. What does the young master prefer?”

To this the young slave just shrugged. “Young, pale, just the usual type.”

"We have plenty of pretty young girls to choose from. I will go and round some up for you to take a look at, shall I?”

“No, not girls.” The Tyrell slave replied. “My master has a taste for boys.”

“Ah.” A pause. “How many?”

“He requested at least 3.”

“We only have 2 at the moment. We sold one last month to the quarries, but he was all used up.”

  
Trant rounded up the two Germanic boys who were usually kept chained together in the cell nearest to the counter, and stood them in line next each other for the Tyrell slave to inspect.

“What do you think?” Trant asked, showing his greasy salesman's smile. “Cream of the crop, right?”

“Actually, they are not the best looking ones.” The young slave muttered, shaking his head as he studied the naked sex slaves. “Their features are quite coarse. They’re built like turnip farmers and there is a dead look in their eyes, which I don’t like much.”

“Well, this is all what we got.” Trant said, scratching his beard and looking annoyed. “To be honest my friend, it’s way pass the 11th hour, you will have a hard time finding any boys still available for tonight in any of the other brothels. So…” He spread out his hands at him and grinned. “You either take these buggers or you fuck off home to your master empty handed and give him and his friends blue balls for the rest of the evening.”

“I didn’t say that I am not taking these two.” The young slave quickly said, now wanting to risk it. “How much?”

“30 Sesterces for each of them, but because it's you, 35.”

The slave paid him, despite the obvious extortion. “What about a third?”

“We don’t have any more male prostitutes.” Trant told him. “We do have a girl who sort of looks like a guy, maybe you could check her out.”

They both turned their heads when they heard someone shout down the corridor.

“Ser! Ser! Are you looking for another boy?” Petyr yelled out. “I do apologize for my supervisor. He must be very tired because he has grossly miscounted. Last time I looked I still had a cock between my legs. Please ser, take me along!”

The young Tyrell slave gave Trant a much puzzled look.

“You don’t want him.” Trant sneered. “You wanted something young. He’s too old.”

“How old are you?” The house slave asked, walking to Petyr’s cell to take a better look at him.

“19.” Petyr replied, licking his lips anxiously as he gazed back at him.

“He’s lying.” Trant told their customer. “He’s been 19 every bloody single year. Ever since I started working here. He’s more like in his late twenties.”

"You're lying to me?" The Tyrell slave asked.

“No sir, I mean I do look younger, don’t I? I could easily pass for 19.” Petyr smiled cheekily.

“Ha! In your dreams!” Trant snorted.

“He does actually.” The house slave commented, eying Petyr up and down. “At least he looks way better than those two Germanic apes you’ve showed me. A bit skinny perhaps, but not too bad. He looks youthful and is built delicate enough, just to my master’s liking.”

“He is a lot of trouble this one. You’re mad if you want to waste any coin on him.” Trant warned.

“No I am not.” Petyr replied calmly, looking the Tyrell slave right in the eyes. “I know exactly what men like your master want.” He said quietly, a smile flickering on his face as he wet his lips again. “Take me with you. I will please him, you will see. You won’t regret it.” Petyr leaned a little closer to him, his chains rattling between his legs. "I am going to suck your master's cock all night like a thirsty little lamb suckling on his mother's tit." He whispered hoarsely in the younger man's ear. "He's going to scream when he comes in my mouth."

There was something about how Petyr fixed his grey green starey gaze on his target, his mouth spreading into the most seductive, roguish smile, while he rolled the tip of his pink tongue over his moist lips that could melt even the hardest of hearts and awaking the most passionless of loins.  

The young Tyrell slave felt something stir down below and decided, without another second thought, that he would rent all three for his master.

“Attach him to the others.” He told Trant while he handed over an extra bag of coins to pay for Petyr, trying hard to keep his legs crossed to hide his erection. “I need to get moving. I have to be back and present these to the young master before night fall.”

Petyr, still completely naked, was yanked by his chains out of his cell by Trant and was fastened to the chains of the other two.

“If you think you have just escaped a good trashing, you are wrong.” Trant hissed in Petyr’s face. “I’ll make sure our dominus knows and remembers this. As soon as you’re back, you will get flogged.” He gave a hard yank on Petyr’s dog-collar, making Petyr bow his head to him. Despite the nasty threats, Petyr couldn't stop himself from smirking back at the malicious bastard. “Enjoy your backside while you still have one.” Trant sneered, and cracked his whip on Petyr’s back, right before the chain gang left the brothel.

 

TBC

 

Notes: Sorry guys, I promised to post today but the next chapter is still a bit of a mess and needs rewriting, so please bear with me, I will get the next chapter up next week, the 16th of Feb, or you can get keep updated on any new posts via my [Tumblr](https://florineandthebluebird.tumblr.com/) account.

 


	2. House of the Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr attempts to manipulate his way out of the brothel, but quickly finds himself the reluctant center piece in an orgy that is held by the Tyrells.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Basically, what it says on the tin. This chapter contains a lot of weird kink and some Petyr/Loras action. For those who don't like kink, please skip part III. 
> 
> For those who are freaked out by this: I am terribly sorry. I promise I will write vanilla flavored smut in the next chapter but you get this sticky sweltering mess for now.

 

 

1.

Petyr had not been anywhere interesting since he was sold to the brothel. Certainly not somewhere as grand as the Tyrell’s townhouse. The atrium was adorned with murals on every wall, depicting green vines with all types and colors of roses in full bloom. Each green branch had vicious looking thorns, gilded in gold. The floor was decorated with exquisite flower mosaics composed of light pink marble, with fine details set in mother of pearl. As he scuttled over the smooth surface on his bare feet, his long chain rattling over the tiles, Petyr noted that a thick carpet of pink rose petals was tickling his soles. Even the air was sweeter in the Tyrell house. The fountain in the shallow pool in the middle of the atrium was leisurely dripping with cool, rose scented water.

A young man, dressed in a virgin white tunic, was lounging in a soft pink couch with his feet up resting on a house slave’s back. Behind him, another slave was waving cool air at him with a large gilded fan of black and white ostrich feathers. Petyr noted that both Tyrell slaves were shackled to a long golden chain, secured to a golden leg cuff around each of their left feet.

 _Of course, in this house no ordinary leg irons for the slaves._ Petyr thought cynically. _One must not think that the Tyrells are barbarians. Rusted iron simply does not fit well enough with the grand locale. Gold it has to be.  
_

“Ah, There you are Servus.” The young master of the house Loras Tyrell noted, bouncing back on his feet when he noticed the house-slave who he had sent out to run his errands. Petyr guessed that he was barely 18 summers old, still yet a boy, more than he was a man. He was handsome in a delicate sort of way, like pale pink roses would be considered pretty, with rounded cheekbones and snow-white skin that had seen very little harsh sunlight. His abundant long curls had the color of cut hay, drying under the summer sun.

“I was starting to wonder why it took you so long.” The young master observed the three slaves that Servus had brought back with him, his hands resting on his hips. “Is this the best you can find?” He scrutinized the two Germanic boys more closely. “They look like apes.” He complained, looking disgusted. “And they smell of dung. Servus, what the heck were you thinking? I can’t show these to my friends! They have good taste…and a set of eyes each!”

“Dominus.” Servus was quick to fall on his knees. “Forgive me. I know that these two are perhaps a bit rough on the edges, but there was very little left available in the brothels at this late hour. I will make sure that they are cleaned up properly before they are presented to your guests.”

His master still did not look much pleased. “Ehm, how about this one?” Servus tried, eager to distract him, he pushed Petyr forward to the young aristocrat. “He looks more adequate, doesn’t he?”

So far, Petyr had kept his eyes cast down to the floor. When he felt the young master’s gaze shift over to him, he slightly lifted his chin, and glared up at the youth. Petyr had dealt with troublesome clients ever since he was a boy of 11. He had seen all sorts, and had developed a real knack for quickly finding out what they desired. In this case, it was rather obvious. Loras didn’t want to fuck someone who looked like a brute and could take him down with one sweep of his ham-sized fist, neither was he looking for a rough tumble and crude reassertion of power, with him on top and the slave grunting at the bottom. No…this boy’s taste was far more sensual and sophisticated than that.

Petyr briefly glimpsed Loras in the eyes. When he had attracted his attention, he retreated, his gaze darting back to the floor, blinking as he faked shyness. Timidly, he held his hands in front of his genitals, as if he was too ashamed to expose himself to the young master.

“This one certainly has some potential.” Loras muttered, captivated by Petyr’s coyness and display of innocence, he unknowingly ran his tongue over his lips. “What’s your name?”

“They call me Littlefinger in the brothel, dominus.” Petyr replied, in a voice that was as soft as falling snow.

“That’s a strange name to give to a prostitute.”

“I was very small when I was younger. They took me when I was very young.”

“How old are you now?”

Petyr bit down on his lower lip as he prepared for the lie. “I don’t know.” He fumbled nervously with his fingers as he hesitantly looked up at the young master. “What is going to happen to me now dominus?” He asked, pretending to be fearful.

“Nothing horrid, I promise you that.” Loras said, quick to reassure him with a smile. He placed his hands on Petyr’s shoulders and gently, tenderly, he stroked over the sides of his arms to calm him. Upon feeling his master’s touch, the slave shivered. His breath stalled a little and he let out a frightened whimper that made Loras’s cock grow hard under his tunic. The sight of the bulge under the fine fabric, reassured Petyr that he was on the right track. No doubt, the young lord of the Roses had a more gentle heart than many of his clients in the brothel, but the boy was still not immune to a bit sin.

“Please dominus, not here. Not where everyone can see.” Petyr begged in a broken, choked up voice that was barely a whisper in Loras’s ear. The young lord ignored his plead. His hands kept wandering down, till they reached the warmth moistness between Petyr’s legs. With a well-mastered skill that surprised even Petyr, Loras cupped his half-limp cock and forced away the soft folds to reveal the pink glistening head underneath. The slave moaned and swayed weakly on his feet when the young master brushed over the swelling tip with his thumb. “You don’t need to be so shy.” Loras told him, hot blood rushing into his ears as he saw how Petyr was squirming under his touch, apparently so very reluctant to expose himself, but yet enjoying and submitting to him so completely. “No one is going to hurt you here. I won’t let that to happen. Not in our household.”

“Please dominus.” Petyr uttered between gasps, playing every bit the virgin whore he knew the boy would love. He knew his part well, how to act like the perfect injured wall-flower that needed protection from this noble and valiant lord. He hadn’t really been this pathetic ever since he stopped weeping back in the earliest days in the whorehouse, but Petyr could still perfectly mimic the whole experience, slipping back on the skin of that traumatized scared little boy without leaving a mark on his soul. Really, he had so many disguises now, so many shapes and faces to please others and hide behind, that he doubted the real Petyr still existed anymore.

As Loras continued to milk his cock, Petyr leaned back, struggling to keep on his feet, swaying like a helpless, newborn lamb. Loras caught him in his arms and wanted to snake his tongue in his mouth, but Petyr shied away, nudging his head against his master’s chest. “Please, please dominus.” Petyr told him, his eyes large and begging and seemingly horrified, his lower lip slightly quivering as Loras’s hand continued to grope him. “Take me somewhere where they can’t see it when you use me.” He panted.

Loras let out a longing breath. “Alright then.” He nodded at Petyr, and finally let him go. “Servus, unchain him.” He kept his gaze on Petyr’s face and with a gentle hand, tried to raise up the slave’s chin so he could look him in his lovely grey green eyes.

Servus beckoned one of the house slaves to release Petyr from the chain gang. “What shall I do with the other two?”

Loras had already completely forgotten about them. “Whatever you said.” He murmured, showing not much interest. “Get them outside and clean them up for tonight.” He gave Petyr a roguish smile and took his hand. “This way.” He said, and without looking at the others, the young master dragged his newest toy in the direction of his bed-chamber.

 

2.

“Dominus.” Petyr gasped. He had to give it to the boy. He was very _very_ good. Lora’s hands seemed to be everywhere at the same time, caressing his chest, his thighs and his genitals. Petyr’s penis now stood fully erect and was slick and wet with excitement. It turned out that the young master wasn’t too squeamish to give the slave’s cock a good suck. The eagerness with which young Loras had taken to the task, taking it all inside his soft warm mouth, wrapping his pink lips around the throbbing shaft, and swallowing it all the way down to Petyr’s dark curly patch of pubes, made the slave squirm against his bonds. Like Petyr had expected, the boy had him tied him down, shackled him with a set of golden chains to his feather bed by his wrists, so he could use the slave in anyway it pleased him. So far, Petyr had very little reason to complain. Normally he would hate to have so little control, but the boy was a natural cock-tease, and he was absolutely loving every minute of lustful attention that his new master bestowed on him.

“Do-dominus.” Petyr tried again, speaking up between broken moans and whimpers. He had to struggle to keep his mind together as Loras’s deliciously warm tongue rolled over the velvet softness of his balls, all the way down to his now more than eager hole, before it drew slow, maddeningly enticing circles around the pink puckered rim.

“Yes?” Loras grinned, his face glowing with lust as he gazed up at his little plaything.

“C-can I please stay with you?” Petyr begged. He wasn’t even sure anymore if he wanted this because it would be his ticket out of the much hated brothel...or because the boy had him so aroused that he wouldn’t want to leave his bedside, even for his own freedom or all the riches in the world. Petyr’s hole was quite loosened up already, when four fingers dipped in olive-oil entered it and widened like scissors, stretching him up as they slipped out and in, stroking his prostate. It made Petyr completely lose it. His mouth dropped open, drooling a little as he gasped for air.

"You want to be my new bed toy then?" Loras laughed, as he continued to make the slave wriggle and squirm under his touch.

 _Oh merciful Gods._ Petyr thought, his mind abandoning reason and giving over to brute divine lust. _Yes! yes please! Just keep me here as your personal slut for the rest of my life. I will adore and worship and tend your cock like the Vestals are devoted to the eternal fire of Rome. I don’t even mind the vulgar golden chains. Chain me up and just use me, please._

Half dazed with pleasure, he wasn't even aware that he was yanked up by the chain of his dog collar and guided to his young master’s erect shaft that came poking from beneath his tunic.

“Com on then.” Loras laughed. “If you want to stay, show me what you can do with that pretty little mouth of yours.”

Petyr eagerly wrapped his lips around his master’s cock and started suckling on it like a hungry Romulus drinking from his mother she-wolf’s tit. Sucking cock normally wouldn’t do much for Petyr, who found it mostly boring and sometimes humiliating, but somehow, the sensation of Loras’s warm firm flesh inside his mouth, together with the gentle pull by his young master on his dog-collar, and the continued fingering inside his hole made his mind go blank and set his loins on fire. Soon, Petyr wasn’t pretending anymore. He was truly enjoying it, loudly slurping up all the salty juices that spurted out of the tiny slit like a well-trained slut, his own cock growing rock hard and jerking of excitement. In the end, experience beat Lora’s youthful enthusiasm, and soon it was the young master's turn to shut his lidded eyes, his pink mouth a blushing bloom, gasping harshly as Petyr brought him to the very verge of a mind-blowing orgasm.

Petyr needed just to do a few more strokes, long and deep and slow, and his master's cock would spurt inside his mouth like the juices of a over-ripe peach. Just when that was about to happen, the door to Loras’s bedchamber flung wide open and a tall bearded fellow, with mousy brown hair and a somewhat intoxicated gaze, staggered in. He wore a mock crown made of deer antlers and laurels on his head that was slipping over his left eye from one side. “Fuck!” He muttered, gazing at both of them with a somewhat comical and surprised expression on his face. Loras, alarmed, immediately pulled out of Petyr’s mouth, swung his legs over the side of the bed and half stumbled to his feet.

“Fuck!” He said again, as he started grinning sheepishly  at the young master of Roses. “You dirty _dirty_ cheat.” He smiled, shaking his head. “I thought you said you were going to wait for me before you get started.”

“Renly!” Loras quickly pulled back down his tunic to cover his still erect lid. “You’re here already!” He rushed over and gave him a most affectionate hug that Petyr noted, was somewhere between a hug you would give to your favorite brother, or to your beloved wife. "How was your journey from Messina? I thought you were not going to arrive back in Rome till after night fall?”

“It is _already_ after night fall.” Renly said, glancing over Loras shoulder and scrutinizing the slave who was chained to his best friend’s bed. “Servus told me you’ve been real busy in your bed chamber. Said you were completely taken by one of the slaves he brought back from the brothels. I could hardly imagine, after seeing those two Germanic brutes in the atrium. This one looks _much_ more adequate though.” He added, taking in Petyr with a bit of a sour grin.

Petyr also picked up the hint of jealousy in his voice. _So these two are lovers then._ Petyr thought. _He doesn’t seem very sober either. I better watch out for his nasty sting._

“Oh he’s absolutely lovely.” Loras said with a dreamy smile as he looked back at Petyr. “He's called Littlefinger.”

“So already you've named your new pet? Pfff, That’s quick.”

“That’s what he’s called in the brothel. He wants me to keep him. I think I might.”

“Oh no.” Renly rolled his eyes at him. “Not that again. Don’t you have enough playthings in your household to keep you busy already? You got a cook who can’t really cook, but is excellent in sucking cock. You have a Greek tutor who can hardy read Greek.”

“But has the finest asshole in the whole of Greece.” Loras joked, grinning happily at his dear friend.

“Dominus?” Petyr boldly interfered, thinking that he better re-ascertain what he had managed to achieve with the young Tyrell lord, before jealous Cornelia here threw a spanner in the works. “I beg you.” He said, showing Loras his sweetest, saddest look. He even managed to squeeze out a few drops of tears to look really pitiful. “I have been treated horribly by my current master. He beats and starves me constantly. Please, I don’t want to go back to him. Please don't send me back to the brothel. I want to stay here with you. Please, please let me stay.”

“I will find something for him.” Loras told Renly, his heart melting by the very sight of Petyr’s pleading eyes. “I think we might still need a gardener...or a cleaner...or something.”

“Oh please.” Renley sighed, having none of it. He walked over to the chained up slave. “You’re not running a charity here Loras. I would say, if this little whore wants to stay, he better show us that he’s worth the coin.” He produced a metal contraption the size of a bird’s nest and showed it to Loras, who was immediately curious and intrigued.

“What’s that?” He asked, grinning as he rushing over to get a better look at it.

“A brand new Greek invention. Honestly, it never stops to astonish me how creative these guys are. I bought it in Thebes last year when I was visiting the academy there.” He tossed it over to Loras. Petyr took notice of the peculiar little thing from the corners of his eyes. It looked like a small wire cup, made out of silver colored metal. The wires were shaped like rose vines, with short stubby thorns pointing inwards. There were short chains attached to it.

“It looks like a tiny cage…what does it do? Trap birds and doormice?” Loras asked, half joking.

Renly gave Loras a knowing smile. “You trap something inside it alright, just not little woodland animals.”

He took the toy back from his friend and grab hold of the slave's cock, before cramming it inside the cage. He wasn’t careful or gentle, he just forced it all in while Petyr still had half an erection, bending the lid double to fit the tiny space. It made the poor slave buck against his restrains and cry out in pain. Renly slapped Petyr hard across his face. “Don’t move!” He said, frowning down at him like he was chastising a disobedient dog. Then he buckled the chains of the device tightly around his waist, with one chain running from the strap down over his balls and into the crack of his ass cheeks so it was be secured on the back.

“You can use it to keep your slaves from getting an orgasm.” Renly explained to Loras. “I saw this thing work it’s magic on a gorgeous Persian boy I bought from the slave market back in Dodona. Me and my travel companions fucked him the whole way from Greece back to Rome. You should have seen him, he was moaning and squirming in the carriage like mad. He was constantly hard, but he couldn’t come even once. In the end, we got so bored of his begging and weeping all the time that we took pity on him, and removed it, just before we crossed the Rubicon. He came so hard and long, he kept shooting his load up to the ceiling, right till we reached the city gates.

“That is so wicked.” Loras laughed giddily, like it was some sort of terrific joke, and not some frightful description of cruel and sadistic torture. Petyr, being on the receiving end of all this, thought it to be far less amusing. Even without an erection, the strap was basically too small to fit the whole penis of a grown man inside. He still had blood trapped somewhere in his lower region, which kept his lid obscenely swollen while the metal rose thorns pricked painfully into his soft throbbing flesh. It was so horribly uncomfortable that he was desperately trying to re-adjust it by rubbing his thighs together.

"Don't you dare touch it!" Renly told him, slapping his ass cheek till it stung. "You want to stay? Do as you're told!"

Petyr sucked in a ragged breath and reluctantly stopped wriggling. There was a very nasty part of him that gladly imagined that bearded fool being stripped naked, flogged and fucked by a whole gang of drunken gladiators. It was that image of him crying and screaming out of agony that Petyr really wanted to remember and cherish inside his vindictive little mind.    

"So." Loras said, grinning playfully, and fully unaware of what this devilish contraption was doing to his beautiful plaything. "What are we going to do with him now?" He asked excitedly. Knowing Renly, he must have some very grand things planned for tonight.

"I think it's time for him to join the others." Renly said, and took off his fool's crown and placed it on his lover's head, before he planted a deep long kiss on Loras's lips. 

 

3.

Renly let one of Loras’s houseslaves cuff Petyr’s wrists together on his back, so he certainly wouldn’t be able to touch himself again. Then they marched him back to the atrium, leading him by his chain like he was his pet dog. Petyr still tried to get some relief by rubbing his caged cock against the inside of his thighs when they weren't looking, but much to his frustration, it only managed to make his arousal become even worse. He tried to beg with his young master, letting out frustrated groans, but Loras was too excited about his lover's lustful little plans for the evening to pay his plaything anymore attention. Renly then had the ingenious idea to further shame the poor slave by showing him off to the other guests. Petyr was brought out in front of a raucous crowd of young men, barely past the adolescent age, who laughed and jeered at him when he was displayed fully naked, bound and chained with the ridiculous device tormenting his cock. Petyr was used to a lot back in the whorehouse, but even for him, this was just too much. He bowed his head to avoid looking anyone of these young lords in the eyes, and wished he had his hands free, not so much to remove the painful contraption from his aching lid, but to cover his genitals to hide his shame.

“Don’t be scared now Littefinger.” Loras said, stupidly mistaking his horrified, timid demeanor for fear. The young Tyrell lord hopped over to the other guests and settled himself in one of the sofas closest to Renly, before he gestured to his house-slave to lead Petyr away. It seemed that they both have missed much while they were fooling around in the bedchamber, for the Tyrell party was already in full swing. A trio of musicians were softly playing melodious tunes on their lutes in the background, while the guests, all male and around Loras’s age, had already settled down on soft feather sofas around a semi circle of low tables that were loaded with dishes. Petyr was still starving, and his stomach growled loudly when he picked up the enticing smell of cooked meats, and saw the huge silver plates being brought in by the slaves from the kitchen. Roast beef, dripping with juices, and chickens and fowl, roasted golden with fat glistening all over their skin. A whole monstrously large fish, baked in salt and served with preserved lemons. Hot stews so thick with meat and vegetables that the ladle remained stuck in it. Mountains of good white bread, fresh from the oven, with crispy golden crusts. All this made Petyr literally feel faint with hunger, and his mouth salivated like that of a hungry mutt. What he wouldn’t do to be able to eat just the scraps from this luscious feast. If any of the guests would toss him a bone he would happily eat it right from the floor, gnawing and sucking on it till he got all the delicious marrow out. He couldn’t even remember anymore when he had last tasted real meat.

But he had very little time to indulge in his daydreams of stuffing himself with food. Petyr noted that he was led to the middle of the atrium, where, next to the water fountain, Renly's slaves have set up a strange sort of contraption. It was a type of furniture that looked much like a simple wooden bed. The only difference was that there were leather straps secured to metal bolts on each side.

“Come on boys.” Renly told his own entourage, clapping in his hands while he bit into a chicken leg fed to him by yet another slave. "Strap him down. You know the drill, chop chop!”

Petyr fought against the pull on his chain till two slaves took him by his arms and dragged him to the contraption. He still had no idea what it was for, but he could bet that it wasn't for anything good. They forced him to lie down on it, and restrained him using the leather straps. It was all very uncomfortable, for he was made to rest on his hands and arms with his wrists still tied behind his back. The straps went over his chest, legs and head, fully immobilizing him. Despite his throat being parched, Petyr swallowed hard. From his restrained position, he could only glance up and see the small square of the night’s sky in the roof the atrium. He could not move his head to glance sideways, but he knew that the others would have a perfect view of him from their dinner sofas. Petyr was really scared now. He realized he was strapped down like this to provide the guests with some sort of entertainment, and prayed silently to the Gods that his new masters were just mad lustful degenerates and not bloodthirsty closet sadists. A horrific image surfaced of him being cut into pieces and being dumped on the garbage heap outside of the city's gates. No matter how much Petyr tried to wipe it from his mind, the image kept popping up, and made his heart flutter like mad inside his chest.    

He let out a frightened gasp when another wooden contraption was wheeled over him. It looked like a frame on wheels that was supporting a hammock. A hole was cut out in the fabric. It was placed right above Petyr’s face.

“Get one of those ugly German boys up there.” He heard Renly give the orders. “You don’t need to strap that one down. We’re not going to fuck him. He’s just there to keep our little toy busy. Oh, and give this to the pretty slut.”

A slave came over and Petyr was offered a goblet of wine, which he did his best to refuse. Petyr didn’t like to drink when he was with clients. You never knew what they would do to you when you didn’t have all of your wits together to prevent the real nasty shit from happening, so he pressed his lips together and kept turning his face away. He was successful to prevent any of the wine from passing his lips till Renly’s house-slave slapped him hard, and pinched his cheeks together to force his mouth to open up.

“Come on Littefinger!” He heard Loras say, he was still laughing. Such a happy, moronically carefree boy the young master of the house of the Roses was. “Be a good sport! You know what? You drink this down and I will keep you. I promise. It’s not going to hurt you. It will only help you relax a little.”

“Yeah.” Renly said, grinning. “You seem very tense.”

Still scared, but dying not to have to go back to his horrid life in the brothel, Petyr finally opened his mouth and let the wine be poured down directly into his throat. It tasted very sweet, with a strange acidic aftertaste that burnt on his tongue. He was still coughing up some of the liquid that had ended up in his lungs when the Germanic slave climbed on and laid down on the hammock with his cock poking through the hole.

The sight was truly obscene, yet Petyr felt relief. It didn’t take a genius to imagine what they wanted him to do with it.

“Come on then, suck on it!” Renley said, his grin widened while he chewed on a buttered garlic snail. “Get it all inside that cunt mouth of yours.”

Petyr did as he was told. It wasn’t too bad if he kept his eyes closed, he told himself. He tried to concentrate on what he had been trained to do for all these years and to ignore the mockery coming from the guests who watched on, and took his debasement as a form of highly enjoyable entertainment. “Come on then little slut, suck on that slave cock!” They jeered, laughing loudly while they continued to chew and slurp through the countless of courses that were brought and fed to them by the other slaves.

 _Shit.There is…there is definitely something in that wine._ Petyr thought, drowsy, but alarmed. His mind was slipping, he was losing control over his own body and senses. Although he truly hated what they were forcing him to do, whatever had been fed to him leached all of that anger and horror right out of his tensed up system, and transferred him into a heavenly dreamlike state, in which every muscle inside his body was soft and limp, except for his own lustful cock that now swelled beyond his control. It soon pressed so hard against the nasty wires of his cockcage, that the Tyrell thorns dug deep into his soft pink flesh, making it weep tiny beads of blood.

“Hey you!” He heard Renly yell at the Germanic slave who was lying in the hammock. “Play with his cock. You’re close enough to reach it.”

“I can’t dominus. It’s all wrapped up. I can’t do anything with it.”

“Just lick it, like you would a woman’s clit.” Renly said, laughing. “It’s almost like one now anyway.”

There must be a second hole on the other side close to Petyr's groin because he felt the Germanic slave's hot breath brush over his pubes. He gasped and almost choked on the other man’s cock when a warm tongue rolled over the head of his lid, the wet damp thing caressing his poor abused, but still very sensitive tip, right through the bars of the cage. Then the slave wrapped his lips around the blunted stump, and sucked on it, slurping loudly. Petyr was gone. He couldn’t think of anything else, only that there was this monstrous desperate need, slowly growing inside the pit of his belly that quickly needed to be resolved, or he would go completely mad.

The Germanic slave’s cock dangling above him suddenly seemed the only thing in existence that mattered to his now badly wired brain. Petyr took to it with renewed gusto, and soon it was almost like sucking on the other man's penis directly brought pleasure to his own. Whatever was in that wine quickly reduced him to a mindless state, in which he was carried away on waves of arousal that ebbed and weaned like the tides, but never brought him anywhere near to steady shore. He started moaning, the aroma of burning rosewood incense and the musky scent of sex and sweat in his nostrils as the slave above him spasmed and came, squirting his cum right into his mouth and face. He drank it all down greedily, and he felt his own cock jerk pathetically inside its metal restrains, squirting out just a tiny splash, but nothing more. Yelping and whimpering out of sheer frustration, he started again, letting the slave’s cock glide deep inside his throat, making other man squirm of pleasure, in the fully naive hope that somehow, that kindness would be returned and he would be made to come, despite the cursed cock cage. But the devilish Greek invention was ruthlessly efficient. Nothing but even more pent up frustration followed. It became even worse when the guests got bored of dinner and came out to play.

They raised Petyr’s legs up with chains shackled to his ankles, exposing his hole for all to see. Renly had his slaves bring out his private collection of Greek phalluses. All made of white marble with a web of delicate pink veins, they were not like any natural cock Petyr ever had inserted into him. The first one that they used, was not only huge, the size of a good donkey dick, but was also covered in small nubs. Petyr wriggled madly when it was rubbed over his poor caged clit of a stump, and struggled for air when it was rammed inside his hole, all slick and sleek with warm olive oil. As the monstrous cock stirred inside him, slowly invading and retracting, Petyr thought he was losing his mind. Each push stole his breath away as he was completely pried open, his hole making wet noises as the marble nubs slipped in and out the now generously lubed entrance. His cock kept twitching inside the cock cage. Helpless, pathetic and needy. Then the marble dildo hit his prostate and punched all the air right out of him. “Please.” He begged, trying to see anything beyond the haze of tears, for somewhere in the back of his now lust-indoctrinated mind, he still had the notion that he was being horribly degraded. “Please.” He choked, as the Germanic boy’s cock spewed again and cum dripped down all over his face. Just like the first time, he drank it all down like a good little slave, licking the cum mixed with his tears from his lips, his face devoid of reason, his eyes glazed. His own cock just squirted out the tiniest splash of pre-cum as it jerked and spasmed helplessly. He had already completely forgotten what he was begging for when one of Renly's mates began fucking him rough and hard with the marble phallus, rabbiting it relentlessly against his prostate and making him wriggle and squirm madly against his bonds again, his mouth wide open and drooling, while his body was forced into yet another violent orgasm that would never reach its peak.  

As the hours went on, the guests started to use him for their own pleasure. Turned on by this highly imaginative, but very obscene and bizarre display, and with their cocks already swollen with anticipation, they took turns to fuck him raw in his well opened lubricated hole. Petyr would just take it now, the salt of his dried up tears still on his cheeks as he mindlessly kept begging for more. His hole clenched hungrily around every cock that entered, squeezing each one tight and holding on to it as long as it could, because it felt so addictively and maddeningly good to be filled up so completely. His constant unsatable arousal had transformed him into a mad quivering slut that was only there to submit and serve, and he was gladly offering himself to all who wanted him.

Like this, Petyr proved for many of the participants the best fuck of their life. For those who didn’t take him, the very sight of his sorry, needy state brought many to the verge of an actual orgasm, including Renly and Loras who groped and caressed each other fervently, tripping on opium fueled ecstasy. While Loras’s tongue rolling around his lover’s mouth, his cock grew rock hard from only observing what was being done to his latest sex toy.

By the end of the evening, when they finally took some pity on him and removed Petyr from the table, the all used up slave could no longer stand. His legs had all turned into liquefied jelly, with each muscle shivering beyond his control. Still very much affected by the good dose of opium that was laced in his wine, Petyr obediently followed his young master, crawling on all fours from the noisy atrium to the back of the grand house, where Loras bound him with his chain to a pillar directly outside his bedroom.

Petyr whimpered when Loras ordered someone to bind his hands on his back again. Although he might have enjoyed the bizarre sex, it was all still very traumatizing for him. His belly was full of cum instead of food, and his asshole had never in his entire life taken that much cock in one evening, and was overflowing with other men’s juices. His naked body was slippery and drenched, cooling down rapidly from the sticky mess of sweat, olive oil and cum on his skin. He wanted to say something, but words would not come. His mind was still completely devoid of any reason or purpose. All he really wanted now was the dreadful cockcage removed so he could grab hold of dick and wank himself to a climax.

“You’ve been a very good boy.” Loras said, grinning stupidly at Petyr. The young master of the house had indulged himself a little too much in the vices of his guests,  and was still stuck on his pink opioid cloud. He clumsily patted the slave on his head like he was a toddler trying to pet a dog or a cat, before he produced a key attached to a simple string. “You see this? This is the key to your little cage. Keep it with you for now.” He draped the cord lovingly around Petyr’s neck. The fact that the solution to all of his torment was so achingly close, but could not be used by Petyr because his wrists were bound frustrated him beyond comprehension and he was about to beg his master for release when Loras put a finger on his lips and hushed.

“Patience now.” He giggled, his eyes lidded and his speech slightly slurred. “I will get it off you tomorrow. Behave yourself for just a couple of hours more, and I promise I will keep you. I will let Servus talk to your master next thing in the morning. You will become part of the Tyrell’s household. That’s what you want, right?”

A dim light of recognition lit up in Petyr's confused and needy gaze, and he nodded fervently, letting out a shivering sigh of great relief.

“Loras!” Renly called, with one hand on his lover’s ass, and the other on the door handle of the bedchamber. “Come on. You’ve wasted enough time on him already." he complained. "I want to get you into my bed as soon as possible.”

“Your bed?” Loras laughed as he hurried inside. “You’re a guest, remember?”

“Figuratively speaking.” Renly said, spanking Loras’s ass as he shut the door behind him.

Petyr was so very very happy. His cock was still twitching and throbbing inside the confines of the tiny cage, but at least he got what he wanted. He was saved from the whorehouse. He was going to become a Tyrell’s house slave. No longer would he be at the mercy of that malicious bastard Trant. No more violent clients who would cut and hit him on a drunken whim. Never more would he have to endure starvation, or the frequent rounds of sadistic lashing from his master's hand. From tomorrow onward, he was going to be that boy’s pampered little pet. It didn’t matter to him that he had been horribly degraded and abused tonight by Loras's disgusting friend and his perverted gang of drug addicted faggots. At least, the young master of the Roses seemed to be kind, so much so that he was almost to the point of being naive, and was someone Petyr knew he could deal with. As soon as he got his mind together after this crazy drug fueled haze had worn off, he would think of a plan how to turn this to his own full advantage. From now on, he would be able to eat all the cock he wanted, after he had dutifully sucked all the food that he was told to suck by his new master…or...was it the other way around? Petyr furrowed his brows, he really couldn’t tell anymore. Hunger and lust, humiliation and pleasure, it all had blended into one horrifying and yet deliciously confusing mess inside his poor-poor head.

 _This has been one mad night indeed._ He thought, before he curled up on the floor with a dazed grin on his face, his pathetic cock jerking one last time before he fell asleep, completely and thoroughly exhausted.    

 

 **Notes:** I have no idea what I just wrote...I think I shouldn't have watched all the episodes of Queer as Folk in one night. **Next time:** Sansa and Margaery find Petyr chained up in front of Loras's bedroom. Don't know when the next chapter will be up, probably somewhere in the coming three weeks, will post a note on my **[Tumblr](https://florineandthebluebird.tumblr.com/)**  account when it's ready. Meanwhile, please let me know what you think. If you like this fic, please give my other fics a try?

 


	3. Peaches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This post: We find out more about Petyr's past and Sansa and Margaery find Petyr chained up in front of Loras's bedroom....

 

**Notes:** Suggested music tracks

 

**[A way of life](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EUYpKwgqi1M) **

For part 1

 

[ **Sky full of songs** ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R1TSiB9OuVM)

For part 4

 

**Warnings:** References to past child abuse in part 3. A bit of BDSM vanilla kink in part 4, with subPetyr and domSansa. Well...she is his domina after all...  

And yes: Hera bears a resemblance to Cercei and Venus to Sansa, For Athena, I kept the actress Eva Green in mind. I think she has the most gorgeous eyes.

 

1.

_17 years ago_

The sun was beating down over the golden wheat fields. Hunkered down in between the deep purple lavender, hiding in the shadow, was an eight year old boy. His grey green eyes shone brightly as he peered through the silver foliage, and anxiously followed the grown up, who paced by over the gravel path.

“Young master Bealish!” The man who called him was not that old, but to the young boy, he looked positively ancient. His long beard and chaotic nest of hair had turned silver ever since the Stoic Greek had been assigned by his mother to tutor him.

_I did that._ Petyr thought guiltily. _It’s so nearly impossible for him to teach me anything that it turned him grey early._

“Master Bealish? Where are you? Come back here at once!” His tutor swept his long olive wood cane through the wheat field, making the golden stalks bow and sway. The day was hot. The road filled with dust, and the old man with the hawk nose and rigid spine hated to be out and be left at the mercy of the baking sun for so long. He just wanted to find the child and go back inside, where it was cool and shaded. He longed for a cup of honeyed wine to lubricate his poor parched throat. “Stop with this nonsense immediately. We have to finish today’s lessons. What did I teach you? Only cowards run away from their duties.”

Petyr kept a close eye on his tutor, but didn’t move a muscle.

“Young master, if you don’t show yourself this instance, I am going to tell domina about your great impudence and laziness. Are you truly so cruel that you want to break your poor mother’s heart?”

Petyr was certainly afraid to disappoint her, but at the moment, he was more afraid of his tutor’s punishing cane.

“You’ll never become a great senator like your grandfather was if you don’t memorize your lessons!” He warned him.

_And I never will._ Petyr thought gloomily. _No matter how hard I try, I just keep forgetting them anyway. So what use is it for me to stay inside all day in my grandfather’s dusty old study, trying to learn something that I will never know by heart?_

Someone was calling from the direction of the farm. When his tutor was distracted for a moment, and turned his head to the grand summer villa, Petyr saw his chance and dashed over the road into his father’s wheat fields.

“Master Bealish! Petyr!” The Greek tutor yelled after the child. “Come back! Don’t you dare to run away again!”

Ignoring him and the many startled faces of his father’s slaves who turned to look while they were working in the open field, Petyr ran through the high swaying stalks, all the way to the woodlands that lay behind the last line of golden wheat. He did not slow down till his sandals touched the soft patches of moss and compacted pine needles that covered the forest floor. It was only in the shadow of the ancient pines that Petyr finally dared to stop to catch his breath. He knew his tutor wouldn’t follow him here. His legs were too frail and his tread too unsteady. Petyr often came to the woodlands when he found himself in trouble. It was his favorite hiding place and he felt safe here. Not knowing what else he should do with the rest of the afternoon, he started making his way deeper into the forest, and climbed up small rocky hills, and crossed over a narrow forest stream, till he came across something he had not noticed before.

It was an ancient looking oaktree, lying on its side. It looked like it had been struck by lightening. The trunk, that was thicker than even the largest columns Petyr had ever set eyes on back in Rome, were charred and split. The crown was a tangled jungle of leaves, with branches that lay half buried in the blackened soil. It was between this twisted mangle of wood that the boy saw movement, of something shifting under the layers of rotting plant material.

It was a small bird. It’s long black tail twitched nervously when Petyr carefully cupped his hands around to pick up this shivering bundle of feathers.

“What happened to you?” Pety muttered, holding it close to his chest, he gently stroked the soft, black and grey plumage.

The bird chirped and flapped its wings in response. Petyr liked birds. He liked the way how beautiful they looked, and he adored the way they sang. He often came to the woodlands to gather their fallen feathers for his ever-growing collection, and he could easily lose himself in those long summer afternoons in his grandfather’s study, just listening to the birdsongs in the garden. Sometimes, it seemed, he preferred their company better than that of other children of his age. At least these gentle creatures had never been mean to him.

Petyr noticed that the little thing could only stretch out one of its wings. The other just hung limply from its side.

“Were you injured when the tree came down?” He asked, feeling sorry for the unfortunate creature. “Let me take you back home.” He opted. “I’ll ask my mum to take care of you. She is very clever. She always knows how to make me feel better when I am hurt.”

He was on his way back to the farm and had already reached the narrow woodland stream again, when he saw three unfamiliar figures, sitting on the rocks nearby the water. All three were women, and each one of them was more beautiful than the other.

“Hello little boy.” The first one said. She gave him a prudent smile. She was blond, her golden hair shone as brightly as the sun, and she had a regal, noble sort of beauty that was often the privilege of queens and high-borns. “You’re Petyr Bealish, am I right?” She asked.

Petyr didn’t know what to make of this. “You know my name, my lady?” He held onto his wounded little bird, clutching it tightly against his chest, as if by instinct he knew that something wasn’t right.

“I know everything.” Her deep red lips, the color of wine, spread wide into a smile that looked polite, but didn’t seem very sincere to the child. “I am a goddess you see.” She rose to her feet and walked over to him, her long red dress trailing over the forest floor.

Petyr gazed up at that beautiful face, perfect features set in marble-like skin that was without a single blemish. He noted, that she wore a golden crown adorned with roaring lions, and the long blood red mantle draped over her shoulders was rimmed with eagle feathers and lion’s manes, all symbols of great power and high status.

“I am Hera, the wife of Zeus. I watch over the lives of mortals from time to time. I have known you from the moment you breathed in your first lung full of air after you parted from your mother’s womb. So you see little boy, it’s not surprising that I know your name.”

"If you are a god, what are you doing on my father's land?" He asked innocently.

“It’s not your _father’s_ land.” She replied, wrinkling her elegant brows in plain dismay. “True, we have granted him to have it for this life time, but all what you see, in fact, all what there is in this world and will ever be, belongs to us, the Gods, for we have created it.”

“So...you’re not really trespassing?” Petyr commented. There was no ill intent in his naïve remark, he just wanted to make sure. His father had warned him to call for the slaves, if he ever encountered tramps on his family’s property.

“You are not very clever are you?” Hera remarked, her voice turning sour. “You want to anger a God?”

Suddenly much frightened, Petyr pressed his lips together and shook his head. “What is it that you want from me?” He asked in a small quiet voice.

“That little bird you hold in your hands. It’s not a real bird, but an ornament from my crown. “ Hera bowed her head a little to show it him. “You see.” She pointed out an empty spot in a row of blood red opals. “The middle gemstone is missing.”

“How come it turned into a bird?”

“It was tainted with a drop of my blood when it fell down to earth, making it transform into a living creature. It was an accident.”

“No it wasn’t.” A dark haired woman left the rocks by the stream and came walking up to the young child. For a moment Petyr was completely spellbound by her presence. She had the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen, a truly vibrant color of green that would even envy the leaves and grasses in spring.

“Hera here got herself into an argument with my father.” The green-eyed woman explained, smiling a sly little smile. “She caught him sleeping with another mortal and made a scene out of it, as usual. He hit her with one of his thunderbolts. It knocked the precious stone right out of her crown.”

“Shut your mouth Athena.” Hera snapped, hissing like a viper. “There isn't need for him to know about our affairs.”

“Little boy.” She tried again, her voice now containing less acid and more sweetness. “I want you to return the gem to me so I can restore my crown.”

“Return it to you?” Petyr gazed down at his injured little friend. “Does that mean you’re going to turn him back into a stone again?” The very thought of this horrified him, but Hera didn't notice.

“Yes of course, I am not going to sit on my throne on Olympus with a bird on my head. It will look quite ridiculous. I don’t want bird shit all over my dress.”

“Then I prefer not to give it back to you, my lady.” Petyr said with complete honesty. “I don’t think he’s going like it.”

The chilling smile Hera gave him made the little hairs on the back of neck stand up.

“It’s a stone you dimwit." She told him in a soft whispered threat. "It was mine to begin with. You have to give it back, or else -.”

“Or else what?” Petyr asked innocently. “You won’t be asking me to give it back to you if you could just take him from me.” He added, thinking it through. “Otherwise you would have done so already.”

Hera was distraught, but Athena smirked in response. “So, he’s not so dumb after all.” She muttered, clearly amused.

“You know what?” Hera said, trying to suck in her rage, and to keep her voice calm to not frighten the boy too much. “I am going to trade with you. I am going to offer you something in return for my gem. If you give the bird to me, I will make you the most wealthy and powerful man in the empire. All the senators, all the nobles, even the whole of the imperial family shall bow to you alone. You, little boy, shall become the next emperor of the Roman empire. All the riches of the realm shall be yours. The greatest army this world has ever known will be at your disposal.” Hera crouched down and looked the eight year old in his green grey eyes. “All that.” She whispered. “For just one insignificant little creature. Now, that’s a most generous offer, is it not?" She smiled that fake polite smile of hers again. "Do we have a deal my child?”

Petyr didn’t know what to say. He knew what wealth was. His family was among the richest in Rome. He knew what power was. His father was one of the most trusted senators of the state. His words could determine the fate of the empire. With his voice alone he could summon the support of the entire senate to raise an army of thousands of men to fight and die for the glory of the realm. In his eyes, his family already had all that Hera wanted to offer to him. Taught by the most prudent of parents, it seemed very indecent and greedy to the boy to desire even more.

“I am not sure.” He said hesitantly, nudging his chin down in the soft feathers of his injured friend. 

“Don’t listen to her Petyr.” The woman who had until now, kept herself aside from the others came forward. She had been lounging on the rocks with her legs dangling in the cold stream, and her delicate pale feet left a trail of damp patches on the green moss.

Although he was still a child, Petyr felt his breath stall when he caught her gaze. She was even more beautiful than Hera and Athena combined. Whereas Hera’s beauty was almost fearsome in elegance, like a priceless work of art that should and could not be moved, hers was that of pure desire, of soft warm flesh dreamed of by men who longed for a maiden’s loving touch. It was the type of beauty that flamed passion in a young man's heart and which gave the imagination of poets wings.

Her hair was deep red with a warm autumn glow, her skin pale, glowing like winter snow. Her eyes were frost blue, similar to the clear sky on a glorious winter morning. When she looked at Petyr he could feel a mad fluttering inside his chest that he never felt before in his young life. “You don't have to return the gem to Hera.” She said, her soft voice tender and loving, mother and lover all rolled into one. “She has lost it for a reason.” She bend down and whispered into his ear. “I too desire it. If you give to me Petyr, I shall give you what every mortal truly desires.”

"But...how could you know what I truly want, my lady?" Petyr asked innocently, for he realized he hardly knew what he wanted himself. 

She returned him a seductive smile. "It’s simple really. I am Venus, the goddess of love. I know that when you strip away everything, all the glitter, all the marble and gold, and forget about the power and wealth that seemed to occupy every ambitious man's mind, there is only one truth left in every mortal's heart. What a man most desire, is to be loved. It’s the only thing that is eternal, that one can take beyond the grave, while everything else shall one day return tot dust."

Petyr thought of his own family, of how his father had wept of happiness the day he finally recovered from a life threatening fever last winter. Of the way his mother smiled when she brushed the dust and sweat from his cheeks after a long afternoon of play, and of his little two year old sister, stretching her arms out to him, laughing giddily every morning when he greeted her in her crib , and he knew that goddess was speaking true.

“If you chose me Petyr, I will make you the most beloved man in the empire. The plebs, the senators, even the whole of the royal family will all love, trust and respect you. The family you start, your wife, your children, and your grandchildren, shall all adore you. You shall live a long and happy life, surrounded by friends and family. And when it’s finally time for you to breathe out your final breath on this green earth, the whole of the Roman empire shall mourn your passing and remember you long after you have ventured through the gates of the underworld to Elysium. In the eternal myths of Rome and through the bloodline of your many descendants, in their memory and love, you shall live on forever.”

“What are you going to do to the bird?” Petyr asked. He found Venus far less frightening than Hera was, and he was very much tempted to hand the bird over to her, but he still wanted to make sure that no harm was to come to his new friend.

“My taste is far less vulgar than that of Hera. I shall turn him into a magnificent flower and wear it in my long hair. Your little friend shall live forever, for I will ensure that the splendor of this magical bloom shall never fade.”

“I guess it’s better then being turned into stone.” Petyr muttered, very much disappointed, and not at all content with her offer.

“Perhaps I can persuade you to part with the bird?” Athena stepped forward, her deep green eyes narrowed as she smiled at the boy. “I am Athena, the goddess of wisdom, strategy and warfare. Forgive them, Hera and Venus here don’t know much about the art of consultation. It’s not their dominion, but it is mine. When you want to strike a deal, you might want to try to listen to the other party, even if he's only a child." She smiled at the others. They did not smile back. “So tell me Petyr, what is it that you want for yourself?”

“Nothing much in particular really.” Petyr told her truthfully. “I am very much content with what I already have.”

"Oh but there must be something. Tell me, why did you come to the woods today?”

“I was…hiding from my tutor.” Petyr said, unable to lie to her, his cheeks flushed red.” He wants me to learn one of my grandfather’s orations by heart, but I ran away from class before he could teach me.”  
  
“Why?”

Because…I can’t. I can’t memorize it." He looked down at his sandals in shame. "It’s not like I don’t work hard or anything. It just… it never sticks. I know my father and mother are very disappointed with me, even if they don’t show it." He was close to tears now. "I am very sorry, I don't want to make them unhappy, but I am never going to be a great senator like my father or my grandfather. I can’t even speak right when I am put in front of a fake audience of our household slaves. I stutter and mumble. I can’t remember any of my lines. I am absolutely worthless.” The boy finally blurted out, visibly upset.

“Come come little one." Athena said. "What if I offer you something that you truly want? Would you hand the bird over to me?”

“What are you offering then?”

“Petyr, if you chose me, I shall make you one of the smartest man in the empire. You want to be as clever as your grandfather was? I will make sure that you exceed him. Only a few shall ever be your equal on the senate floor, and if it comes to a battle of minds or a war of strategies, you shall always win. No matter how hard things get, you will always find a way out, because as long you have my protection and your wits, you shall never lose the things that you care for most.”

Petyr thought it through for a moment. “Shall I be able to remember my grandfather’s speeches by heart?” He asked hesitantly.

“Yes you will.” Athena smiled. “And you will be brilliant at reciting them.”

What will you do with the bird?”

It’s a lovely little bird. I shall keep him just like this. He shall be my companion from now on.”

“Really? You want bird shit all over your cape?” Hera sneered, giving a Athena a dangerous look.

"I don't mind that." Athena laughed. "He really is perfect as he is. Only perhaps...for one of the wings?" She stroked over the side of the wing that hung limp, and almost immediately, the bird jumped out of Petyr's arms and took to the sky, flapping both wings vigorously. Petyr stared up at him as he circled around his head, utterly delighted with his miraculous recovery. "He's all better again!" He cheered. "Look, he's flying like nothing has happened."

The bird landed and perched down on Athena's left shoulder, and sang cheerfully at Petyr, as if to thank him.

"Do you want to hand his care over to me, Petyr?" Athena asked, while she gently stroked the creature's grey white feathered chest.

"Yes!" Petyr smiled. "Yes I do. Please take care of my friend from now on." But his smile disappeared from his face when he was startled by Hera's furious response. 

“I can’t believe this!” She hissed. “How dare you, you dumb ignorant little shit! That gem was _mine_! I came from _my_ crown! I shall remember this.” She spoke in an icy voice. “Little boy, you thought you didn’t care for power, or wealth, or status. Let’s see what happens when I take that all away from you and your family, the influential and very rich senator Bealish, who currently has the run of the empire and the old emperor’s full trust. I wonder, if you will still value the gifts that I have offered to you so very poorly, after all of what your family owes to the grace of the Gods have vanished with a snap of my fingers.” She turned and with a sweep of her red cape, she transformed into a monstrously large eagle. She looked at Petyr with a vicious glint in the eyes before with a powerful flap of her wings, she took to the air.

"I pity you little one." Venus told the now much frightened child. "Anyone who refuses my gift shall have a hard time finding any happiness. You don’t care much for love, well then, you shall never receive it. Whoever you hand your heart to shall never love you in return, and all who know you, even your friends, will eventually distrust and despise you. Even the love that naturally comes with the bond of family you shall lose.”

"But I didn't reject your gift!" Petyr lamented. "Truly I didn't want to! You all said that I had to chose! Why are you cursing me? Please take it back, I beg you!"

"You have made the wrong decision. There is nothing I can do." Her face contorted with genuine sorrow. "I am really sorry my child, but you shall be all alone in this world."

Petyr sobbed while the second goddess transformed into a white dove and flew into the sky. There she circled around under the canopy with Hera, and together they cried out their warnings to the weeping mortal below. 

“When you find yourself cast into darkness and misery, and have lost all that a wiser mortal would have hold dear, don’t put your blame on us.” They spoke in unison, their honeyed voices lacking even a smitten of sympathy. “Blame yourself for your own lack of wisdom and for listening to that wicked trickster. Remember little boy, to blame all of your future misfortunes on Athena and Athena alone.”

He was still crying when the last remaining goddess came over and took him in her arms. "Why are you crying my child?" She whispered, cradling him in her bosom.

“Didn’t you hear what they’ve just said?" He hiccuped. "The gods are angry with me because I gave you the bird. What have I done? They have cursed me. They have cursed my entire family.”

“Don’t cry Petyr. They have not taken your life out of your own hands yet.”

“So…you will protect me from them? Their curses won’t work?”

“I am afraid it’s not so simple.” She sighed. “They were very unfair to you. I am sorry. I didn’t know that our little quarrel would have such dire consequences.”

All little hope that remained evaporated from the boy's eyes. “If anything happens to my family, it’s going to be all my fault.” Petyr sobbed. “ I did this. I was so _stupid_ to run away from my lessons and get into trouble again!”

“It’s not your fault. Everything that happened was fated to happen. No matter how things could have been different, today would always be the day you came across Hera, Venus and me at this woodland stream. From the day you were born, you were destined to meet us here, and find the little bird. Stop weeping Petyr. Don’t you see that it has no use now? You must be brave. Do you remember what I promised you in return for your gift?”

He looked up to Athena, his eyes still moist. “Yes.”

“Now then, come here my child. Listen to me, look me in the eyes,” She rested her hands calmly on his little shoulders. “I bestow to you, the greatest gift any man could ever receive. To protect you from all who want to harm you, I shall give you a part of my intellect. Use my wisdom and cunning to defend yourself against Hera’s wrath and Venus’s bitterness. Remember from now on, no matter how bad things will become, you shall always carry it with you, right here.” She gently tapped on his forehead and smiled to console him. "I promise you Petyr, you shall always be under my protection."

 

2.

_Present time, in the house of the Roses_

“Margaery! Margaery! Margy!” Sansa whispered as she tiptoed after her friend, trying not to step on any of the sleeping guests sprawled out over the marble floor. “Stop it now! Stop it!” She whined. “It’s not working out. Can you please just leave this? I am really not in the mood anymore.”

“Oh, come on. At least take a look at him. Servus ensured me he was absolutely not like those two Germanic brutes you disliked so much. He said Loras was quite taken by him. Well, he must be -” Margaery muttered under her breath as she continued to search around. “Otherwise he wouldn’t have kept him for himself for most of the evening.” She lifted the oil lamp to light the rest of the corridor. As always with her brother’s notorious dinner parties, the whole house had been completely turned up side down, and looked like the public market place at night time, with people sleeping off their opium or wine induced stupor in every corner and between the columns, with most of them in various stages of lude undress.

“This place is a mess. It looks like a cheap brothel.” Sansa complained, holding her nose up as she tried to keep her eyes from looking straight at the exposed private parts of one of the sleeping guests.

“Really?” Margaery teased. “Have you been to one that you know for sure?”

Sansa rolled her eyes and let out a deep sigh. “Stop teasing me! I swear, if he turns out to be another one of those square jawed, unwashed savages smelling of horse manure –“

“Yes yes, you will be all over him." Margaery teased. Suddenly she stopped dead in her track. "Oh, Sans! Look! Here he is!” Her friend crouched down and shone the oil lamp in the slave’s face to show him to her. “Servus said he was chained up in front of Loras’s bedroom. So this must be him. certainly not too bad.” She mused, studying him from close by. Sansa looked down at the naked young man lying curled up on the floor. He was chained up by his dog collar to a pillar, and his hands were bound behind his back.

“What did he do? “ Sansa asked, a little astonished.

“I don’t think he did anything wrong really. He would have been whipped otherwise. My grandmother is very strict about keeping the slaves in line, and Servus knows this.”

“Then why is he chained up like that?”

“Well.” Margaery said, giving her friend a reassuring smile after she noticed that Sansa was uncomfortable with this. “It’s just how Loras sometimes likes to play with his pets. It’s nothing serious. It’s not harming him in anyway.”

“It looks very uncomfortable.” Sansa commented as she came a little closer. She was still not very eager to go on with the plan to bed one of Loras’s selected brothel slaves tonight, but Margaery was right. He didn’t look too bad. At least he wasn’t frightening, or ugly, or foul smelling like the other two. His hair was dark, almost black and bit curly. His face was long and narrow, with red blushes on the cheeks and a sharp chin. He was also wiry and thin, and although he was all curled up and it was difficult to see, he was probably not that tall, perhaps even slightly shorter than she was. If she was to bed anyone tonight to help her get pass her sexual immaturity, she couldn’t pick anyone less threatening really.

_It would be like bedding a fluffy bunny rabbit or something._ She reassured herself, and immediate realized how completely childish and ridiculous she sounded. _Anyway, there is no way this man can harm me…and looking at him from this side with his eyes closed, he even seems positively cute._

The slave still seemed to be deeply asleep despite the harsh light shining in his eyes, and Sansa was startled when he his eyelids suddenly fluttered and he started muttering something incomprehensible, before he tried to turn to pillar, away from the noise and light.

“Look do you want him or not?” Margery asked, rather impatiently.

“Let me think about it a little while.” Sansa replied, fumbling with her sleeves.

“Oh come on. Think about this any longer, and the cockerel is going to call Apollo’s sun chariot up from the underworld.” Margaery laid his hand on the slave’s shoulder and shook him roughly.

“No! Don’t do that! You’ll wake him up!” Sansa said, slightly terrified.

“Well, that’s the whole point, isn’t it?” Margaery sighed. She sometimes really had no idea what her dearest friend was thinking. “He can’t possibly serve you while he’s unconscious! Hey you! Wake up!”

Still very much disoriented by the last lingering effect of the opium in the wine, Petyr blinked his eyes and gazed up at the two rather hazy figures looming over him.

“Listen to me slave. I am the young mistress of the house, Margaery Tyrell, and this is my friend, the lady Stark.” Margery explained in a dominant, matter of fact fashion. “She requires your service before we return you to the brothel.”

“Return me…” Petyr’s eyes snapped wide open and he immediately crawled back up to beg both girls on his knees. “No, no domina! This has to be a mistake. The young dominus said that he was going to keep me. I am not going to return to the brothel.” _I don’t want to going back to that horrid place. Never ever again!_ “Please don’t make me go back there! I beg you domina!”

“Oh, not this again.” Margaery muttered, shutting her eyes in dismay. “He always does this.” She explained to Sansa, much irritated, and fully ignoring the horrified look Petyr was giving her. “Whenever Loras rents something he never wants to return it. New and exciting hunting toys he borrows from his friends, books from the public library –“

“Slaves from a brothel.” Sansa muttered under her breath. Unlike her friend, she did notice the fearful expression on the slave’s face...and she felt sorry for him.

“Particularly slaves from the brothel houses.” Margery pointed out. “It’s costing father a small fortune, which reminds me, I really should make sure that it is all coming off from his inheritance, and not from mine.”

“He’s shivering.” Sansa noted, feeling even more sorry for him now.

"Well, that's because it's a rather chilly night." Margaery commented. "So why don't you have some pity on me too and make a decision quickly, so I can go back to my warm and comfortable bed?"

Sansa looked down once more at the young man bowed down at her feet. She really wasn’t in the mood for – as Margaery had put it - some daring and bold sexual experiment to see if she could find a way to satisfy her future husband Viserys. She had been brave enough to show up at the Tyrell’s house and foolish enough so far to let herself be dragged along into Margaery’s schemes, but somewhere between sneaking out of her guestroom after the dinner party had ended and meeting this slave, she had lost all courage to carry on with this ridiculous plan. She much rather go back to her guestroom and spend the night alone. But it was indeed a very cold night, and the poor man in front of her actually looked not only thin, but quite emaciated.

_Who in his right mind keeps his slaves chained up like this outside if he has done nothing wrong?_ Sansa thought. _If my father would have seen this, he would have freed him immediately and let him return to the slave quarters. Maybe I could just say yes and be done with it, get Margaery off my case…and I could take him inside and offer him a place to sleep with roof over his head._

_Also, that way, I don’t need to look like a scared dumb little gooseling._

“He will do I guess.” Sansa said, finally giving in with a sigh, and honestly doubting if she had made the right decision now.

"Oh marvelous!" Margaery cheered, clapping in her hands of excitement. She snapped her fingers and one of the Tyrell's houseslaves came hurrying down the corridor. "Get him cleaned up and bring him to lady Stark's bedroom. And remember." She added in a whisper, making sure that Sansa couldn't hear and therefore change her mind. "Clean him thoroughly, particularly where the sun doesn't shine. I have promised her that she wouldn't catch anything from him, so _you_ better make sure she doesn't." She warned her slave with a little smile.

 

3.

_16 years earlier_

The room was dark and claustophobically small. Only a single oil-lamp provided him with some light to make out the grim walls and the stone bed. Petyr sat huddled on the filthy floor in a corner. His eyes were red and puffy. His voice had become hoarse of weeping and screaming.

It was the first time since he had been brought here that he had fallen silent.

Not because he was any less scared, or cold, or hungry. Not because he had stopped wishing that he could leave this horrid place to find his family. The steel collar that his new masters had put around his neck was still incredibly heavy and was scraping over his inflamed skin. He was still feeling the ache of countless bruises and the sharp pain of the horrific wound that ran from his collar bone all the way to his navel. It had been closed up with a clumsy patchwork of stitches that were still festered underneath the layers of blood and puss crusted bandages. He still couldn't sleep, haunted by the memory of their family home set on fire by soldiers, his father being beaten bloody till he was unconscious before he was taken away. His mother, clutching onto his weeping sister, a centurion’s sword at her throat, while she pleaded down on her knees with him to spare her children.

He still wanted this horrible nightmare to end.

It was just that he knew now, that it was no use to spill any tears. The men who had locked him up in this dark prison wouldn’t stop beating him if he wept. Neither would it stop the strangers from coming in here every night or prevent them from hurting and abusing him.  There was also, no use in begging his masters for a blanket or rags to cover himself because he was shamefully naked and cold, or for the chain to be let looser just a little so he would be able to lie down to sleep. It was even more useless to beg them to stop whipping him till he was black and blue and bleeding, or to beg for more food, even it was just scraps from their meals that they had tossed out.

There simply was no mercy in this place.

He was no longer Petyr Bealish, the pampered son of a wealthy and respected senator, but Littlefinger, or whatever they called him now to mock and ridicule him. He was someone’s property, a brothel slave, the lowest of the low, to be exploited and chastised and whipped at their leisure. After 3 hellish months of unfathomable suffering, Petyr finally understood that if he did not start to act like a slave very soon, he wouldn’t survive this new life for very long.

Petyr licked the salt from his chapped lips, and gazed up at the tiny barred window near the ceiling. Outside, a slice of the evening sky with the thin crest of a pale moon was still visible. Unlike how he had perceived it, the rest of the world had not just ended with the disgrace and ruin of his family.

“Athena.” He whispered, desperate not to wake up his new masters, but wishing so very hard that the goddess would still be able to hear his pleads. “Athena. They took my whole family. I don’t know where they are. I don’t even know if they are still alive. They locked me in here and they…they force me to do these disgusting things with these men who come here in the brothel. They - they let them hurt me. They hurt me every day. You said you would protect me from the wrath of the other gods, but you lied to me. You let Hera ruin my family. You let Venus take away everyone I ever cared for. I have no-one now. I am all alone. Please – please! Don't forsake me. Help me!”

Petyr stopped when someone kicked the mud stonewall from the other side of the corridor.

“What the _fuck_ are you screaming at Littlefinger!” Trant barked. “I am trying to sleep here! Keep it down! You want me to come in there and fuck you bloody again, you little shit?!”

Frightened out of his mind, the nine year old boy shrank further away in the corner and pressed his lips tightly together.

_Please help me Athena._ He continued in silence, while he rocked back and forth with his needle thin arms wrapped around himself for comfort. _Goddess of wisdom, if you have any mercy in your heart, please don’t leave me here. Please don’t forget about me. You promised you wouldn’t. Please, please…Don’t abandon me…_

But the goddess did not answer his pleads. Not that night, nor any of the nights that followed. And slowly, but certainly, the little light of hope that was left in Petyr’s heart faded away. As the years passed, he even started to doubt if the encounter with the gods had happened at all, and if Athena truly had sworn to protect him.

 

4.

_Present time, in the house of the Roses_

He was taken to the courtyard where the slaves washed him with buckets full of freezing cold water, and scrubbed him clean with crude horsehair brushes till his skin felt painfully thin. Then he was led through the corridors by his chains and brought into a lusciously decorated bedchamber in the back of the house. They pushed him down so he was kneeling in front of the young noble woman with the flaming red hair.

“Leave us.” She dismissed the other slaves with a wave of her hand. Finally, the opium-induced intoxication that had clouded his mind for so long was starting to wane, and Petyr cautiously peeked at her through the dripping wet strands of his hair that now reeked of the bottle of rose water the other slaves had emptied over his head.

The young woman had pink blushes on her skin that spread from her cheeks all the way down the delicate lines of her neck. She made a flustered, almost nervous impression on him, and she also looked very young. He though she had seen fifteen or sixteen springs perhaps, but no more.

She was breathtakingly beautiful.

“For God’s sake, let’s just get this over with.” The girl sighed after the others had scuttled out of the room, and they were left alone. She straightened her back and studied him almost pensively. The girl had the most beautiful eyes. Even in the dim light of the oil-candles, they seemed impossible blue to Petyr. Bluer than the bluest sky that he could see through his tiny window in high summer. Almost as blue as the sea he remembered from his childhood, when visiting his grandfather’s seaside villa in Herculaneum.

As blue as the merciless eyes of the goddess Venus.

He quickly pushed the memory of her out of his conscious mind, telling himself to focus on finding out what this young woman wanted from him, for his survival may depend on it. 

“What’s your name?” She asked in a not unfriendly tone, but commanding his response all the same. _A high born lady then._ He thought. _She is used to being waited on hand and foot by probably a whole army of slaves._

“They call me Littlefinger domina.” He gazed up at her with his head kept down submissively.

“Littlefinger? Is that truly your name?”

“Yes domina.”

“It sounds idiotic.” She pointed her nose haughtily in the air, thinking that he might want to trick her. She wasn't going to take any nonsense from a slave. “No one with a sound mind would make up a name like that for a child.”

“It’s the name that my master has given me. I was not allowed to keep my own.”

Her attitude towards him softened a little. “Why did he name you Littlefinger?”

“When he bought me, I was very small, and I looked sickly.” He didn’t care to mention that that his new master had him starved and beaten by Trant for three long months before he started to really look that frail to earn-up to his nick name. “He though it suited me.” He just commented.

“That’s...very cruel of him.” She muttered softly. There was pity in her voice that took Petyr by surprise. No one had ever felt sorry for him before. _So she is softhearted, and perhaps…also a little bit naïve? If you are already feeling sorry for me for having such a ridiculous name, what would you do if I tell you about how they have trained me well with the whip and rod so I would stop crying when I service the brothel's clients? Are you going to weep me a whole river of compassionate but useless tears?_

"No master should mock his slave like this. It’s not right.” She paused for a moment. “What’s your real name?”

Again, Petyr was confused. “You want to know my real name domina?” He asked hesitantly, thinking that he might have heard it wrong.

“I don't want to keep calling you Littlefinger.”

“It’s Petyr…My father named me Petyr.” It was strange to hear himself say his real name out-loud. It has been such a long time. It almost seemed like it didn’t really belong to him anymore.

A memory of his father resurfaced. Unlike Petyr, his old man was tall and had an impressive frame with a charming, boisterous voice to match. After being buried in the back his mind for all these years, Petyr could hear his father's voice again. He was five, and he was being carried by him on his shoulders. The senator was laughing as his son tried to reach for the sweet ripe peaches in the top branches of the old tree in the family garden. “You need to grow a little taller, my boy!” His father teased him. "Next year, I want you to be able to pick the fruit all by yourself!”

It was as if a knife was being twisted inside Petyr's heart, and he quickly forced himself to not think of him any longer. _The past doesn’t matter anymore._ He reminded himself. _What matters now is_ _to keep this girl happy before she goes complaining to the Tyrells and make them change their mind about me.  
_

“Petyr.” She murmured, as if she was trying out the sound of his real name. “That’s not a bad name.” She sat down on the bed. The silk cushions and feather mattress were so lush and soft that she half disappeared in the bedding. “So, tell me, what do you want me to do?”

“Me…domina?” Petyr responded even more puzzled than before. Normally his clients would just order him around, or take what they wanted without asking. Of course, the girl was clearly inexperienced, but still, this was _very_ unusual.

I mean…do you want me to lie down or anything?” The blushes on her cheeks lit up into a darker shade of crimson. Although she was only dealing with a lowly slave, the question clearly embarrassed her deeply.

Petyr then finally realized: _It’s her very first time._ _She doesn’t know what to do, you idiot! That’s why she’s asking._

“You could, for your own comfort domina, rest on the bed." He tried to explain to her. He had to be cautious not to let her think that he was commanding her to do anything. For a slave, that would be a mortal sin.  "It depends on what you wish me to do for you. Do you wish me to enter you –“

“No! No, absolutely not!” She rushed to say. “I don’t – want you inside me.” She looked utterly repulsed and horrified. “Margaery, she told me that there are other ways for a man to pleasure a woman. A way without risking pregnancy. I wish you to do that for me.” She said, trying to sound confident and in control again, but so obviously failing _._

_It's like she’s in a tavern and has no idea what and how to order, and just points at whatever slop the guy next to her is having._ Petyr thought, slightly amused by her helplessness. He just couldn’t comprehend how someone could be so impossibly naïve and immature at her age. When he was sixteen, he knew exactly how the world worked. He knew how to pleasure anyone with a dick, and every one of his holes had been stretched and used so often that he barely felt anything anymore, except perhaps for the occasional boredom.

_This girl, on the other hand, would probably faint by the first sight of a rigid cock._

But there was also something alluring, something highly appealing in the girl's shyness and innocence. Also, despite her haughtiness, she seemed kind…and so far wasn’t trying to make his life any harder than it already was. 

"Yes domina." Petyr admitted, and turned and bowed down deeply so she could reach the ropes that bound his wrists on his back.

"What?" She asked, thoroughly puzzled. "What do you want me to do?"

"You have to untie me first domina. Otherwise I wouldn't be able to serve you."

“Untie you? No!” She rushed to say. “Certainly there is no need for this. I – I don’t want you to actually touch me.”

Petyr bit on his lower lip to suppress a sigh.  “Domina.” He tried to patiently explain again. “If you don’t allow me to use my hands, it will be very difficult for me to do my job.”

“I don’t care. Just think of something.” She snapped back, looking not at all pleased.

_By the grace of all the gods in the Pantheon and Juno's virgin cunt, this is turning into a real farce._ Petyr thought, getting alarmed. _How am I ever going to satisfy her impossible demands?_ But then a bold idea came into his mind.  He shuffled closer to her, his knees scraping over the delicate mosaic floor. When he reached her closed legs he gazed up her pleadingly. "Domina, would you please allow me?" He nudged his head between her thighs to indicate what he wanted. The girl's cheeks flushed red again, but she was too shocked to object, allowing Petyr just enough time to gently push her legs apart till the space was wide enough for him to dive under her silk dress.

Sansa let out a shrill shriek of surprise. "What are you doing?!" She felt his soft damp curls sweep across her thighs and tickle her skin. Panicking now, she crossed her legs, clamping Petyr tightly between her thighs to restrict his movement. "No, no, I don't want this so stop it! I order you to stop doing whatever you're doing and -"

She shrieked again when his tongue rolled over the soft folds of her sex, the tip of it lingering around the narrow opening, barely nudging a wedge in between her labia. Her hand shot out in panic and hit him hard on the side of his temple.

"I am sorry domina if I have offended you." Petyr replied from underneath the light cover of her dress, the side of his skull throbbing. "But you did order me to pleasure you without touching you with my hands."

"You're licking me like some perverted pup!" Sansa cried out, quite outraged. "Is this the kind of filth they teach you in the brothels? It's revolting! it's indecent, and I will not al-"

She let out a long shivering gasp when she felt his tongue roll over her red swollen clit before repeatedly teasing it with long gentle strokes.

“What – what was that? What did you just touch?” She asked, pretty much flustered and stunned by what she had just experienced.

A muffled response came from underneath her dress. Sansa lifted up the fabric and so she could look the slave right in his eyes.

"There is little spot between your legs domina.' Petyr explained. "It’s a like a little rose bud. When it is touched, it makes you feel like that.” Petyr bend over slowly without losing eye contact with his mistress and licked between her folds again. “See?” He told her with a little smile.

“That’s –that’s such a strange feeling.” She replied, still slightly shaken. _Strange but oh so very pleasant._ “No no don’t stop.” Sansa ordered him when she noticed that he was moving away from her, and put her hand on the back of his head to push him deeper between her thighs. “Keep doing what ever you were doing. Don’t stop.”

Like a good slave, Petyr obeyed her order, and soon he tasted her salty juices on his tongue when he made her come violently, shrieking and gasping for air.

“That was…amazing. I have never felt anything like that before.” Sansa whispered, she was lying on her back on a tower of cushions, her legs leisurely dangling over the side of the feathered bed as she stared up to the painted ceiling. Petyr was still kneeling by her side, and her hand reached out and began gently stroking his curls."It was incredible." She mused, granting Petyr a most radiant smile that somehow managed to make his heart, numbed by so many years of cruelty and hardship, stumble and stutter inside his chest. "I wish I could experience it again."

"You can domina." Petyr said, despite knowing very well that he should remain impassive when dealing with clients, he was genuinely smiling back at her. It was something incomprehensible, but the way she was smiling at him, made him feel happy.

"What? Are you serious?" Sansa laughed.

"It's not a one time thing." Petyr explained, with a naughty glint in his eyes. "Would you like me to pleasure you again domina?"

By the time the gong in the atrium struck two times after midnight, Sansa had come at least three times, and was close to coming again when she finally couldn’t take it any longer and begged Petyr for mercy.

"Oh my god." She gasped, tilting back her head. "My legs are shaking. Stop stop. A little rest, please."

Petyr obeyed, and she let herself fall back on the feather bed, her legs shivering and her bosom rising and falling rapidly. Her pretty silk dress was drenched in sweat and had almost become transparent, hugging her curves tightly. She looked like a delicate woodland nymph, and Petyr, who was crawling up from between her legs, couldn't take his eyes from the pink circles of her round firm breasts, that poked like the stems of ripe plump fruit through the translucent fabric. Tired himself, he lay down next to his mistress. Sansa didn't push him away, but merely gazed down lazily at him. The way he looked at her, timidly, almost shyly, his face gleaming with sweat, his pink lips moist and soft, his eyes pleading, made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It made her forget, just for a little while, who she was and what he was. Lost in the moment, she found herself reaching for the chain of his dog collar and gently pulled him closer, so close that she could smell his musky sweaty scent right through the thick cloud of rose water perfume. She was about to kiss him in a way she had always imagined how she would kiss her first tender love, when a soft knocking on the door interrupted everything. 

"Domina?" Came the hesitant call from one of the Tyrell's slaves. "May I please enter?"

"Wait, not yet!" Sansa shouted, startled out of her daydream, she let go of Petyr’s chains and pushed him away so clumsily that he rolled right off the bed. “Now you may enter." She said, after she had fumbled with her dress to make herself look presentable. "What do you want?" She asked in a much irritated voice. 

"Domina, the mistress asked me to bring you a late supper. She said you have skipped dinner tonight, and thought you might be hungry.” The slave-girl was carrying a large silver tray loaded with all kinds of delicious delicacies that Petyr could only dream of.

"I don’t need anything.” Sansa told her impatiently. “Take it all back to the kitchen and don’t disturb me again.”

The slave girl was already turning around to obey her orders, when Sansa finally noticed the pleading look petyr was giving her. “Domina, please –“ He muttered, feeling weak by the very sight of all this food that was about to be thrown out.

"Wait.” Sansa ordered. _Oh how blind can I be! The poor soul. He must be starving._ “I changed my mind. Leave it all here.”

“You must be hungry.” She told Petyr after they were left alone again, and gestured at the small wooden table on which the slave had set out the entire spread. “Take whatever you want. I am not hungry.”

Petyr couldn't believe his luck. “Thank you domina!” He immediately started to stuff himself with mouthfuls of meat and bread. With his hands still bound on his back, he was only able to eat directly from the plates and soon he was making a real mess of it, with a couple of dishes dropping on the floor and sauces and oily meat juices smudging his chin and cheeks, dripping down on his chest. By the time he was trying to bite into a peach that was continuously escaping his grasp, Sansa took pity on him. She picked a ripe plump fruit from the tray and held it up for him. She watched him devour it in three large mouthfuls. It truly pleased her to see him enjoy it so much. He seemed so happy and grateful. "My name is Sansa by the way. Sansa Stark." She told him, not really knowing why she bothered to introduce herself to a lowly slave...but there was something about him, the way he stared at her pleadingly with his green grey eyes, that somehow made her care for him.

"Can I have another peach domina?” he asked, licking his lips while the sticky juices of the last peach still ran down his chin.

She took another one from the silver tray. “You really do like peaches." Sansa commented as she watched him take three consecutive bites from the succulent flesh.

“My family used to have a peach-tree in the middle of garden.” He swallowed and licked his lips again, savoring the taste. “It was centuries old. Every year around midsummer, it was loaded with sweet scented fruit. I used to climb up the branches, pick them for my little sister. The taste of these…it just reminds me of that tree.”

He wanted to say that it reminded him of home, but that one word carried just too much of heavy burden, would open to many old wounds for him to dare say it out-loud.

Sansa somehow seemed to understand him. "Where is your family now?" She asked quietly.

"I don't know, domina."

"That's very sad." She struggled to find anything to say to console him. "I am sorry for what happened to you." She finally said.

"Don't be." He faked a smile. "I was very young when I was taken away. I don't remember much." He lied.

His mistress leaned closer to him, so close that he could feel her heart beating inside her chest, the warmth of her body radiating through her thin silk gown. She caressed his cheek and gazed into his eyes. Such deep blue eyes she had, the same color of the sea he dreamed about when he lie shivering on his cold stone bed in his dirty cell. The color of the eyes of the goddess Venus, who had once tried to seduce him with promises of love and acceptance, of a long and happy life spend together with a family he no longer had.

_She got what she wanted, why is she still interested in me?_ He thought, slightly shaken by this unfamiliar tenderness. He was unable to comprehend what such a divine beauty could ever see in him, or that she would notice him altogether, but Sansa did, she did notice him. She did see him, and she wanted him for her own. 

Warm soft fingers curled around his locks, tenderly tilting his head towards her. She lifted her dress and pulled on his chains to make him lean even closely to her, till his bare chest brushed over her soft velvet breasts. She then let out a deep sigh and planted her lips onto his. Their mouths had barely touched or Petyr felt his cock stir awake inside the tiny cage, and soon the Tyrell's thorns were pricking painfully into his soft pink flesh.

"What's wrong?" Sansa said, shocked when she noticed him grimacing. "Is it something I did?" Did-did I hurt you in some way?" She asked, completely horrified.

"No domina...it's the cage." Petyr, kneeling on the bed, he spread his legs apart to show the devilish Greek contraption to her.

She gasped and folded her hands over her mouth. "Oh by Zeus, you're bleeding!" 

"Domina." Petyr begged. Much to his horror, and despite the pain, his stubborn lid continued to swell. "Take it off me, please."

"I don't know how." She hardly dared to come any closer to inspect it. "Is there a key or something?!"

"Yes! Yes there is one dangling from a string around my neck." He raised his chin up so she could spot it more easily. Hesitantly, Sansa removed the key from the string. She had found the lock on the little cage, but didn't dare to proceed. She had never touched a man's private parts before, and it worried her that she was about to soil her hands on a slave.

"Domina, please." Petyr pleaded, his eyes wet with tears as the sharp thorns dug deeper and deeper into him. "It hurts. It really hurts. Please, please have mercy."

"Alright, alright!" Sansa said. "Just...don't move too much." She wasn't sure what would happen after she released his lid. The workings of the male anatomy was completely alien to her and she couldn't comprehend how a simple kiss could possibly lead to such a horrible mess. Sansa took in a deep breath and stuck the key in the lock and turned it, releasing the springs in the tiny metal mechanism, to which Petyr responded with a soft moan and a shaking of the shoulders.

"Petyr? Are you alright?" He didn't reply but sounded like he was still in pain, and she decided to remove the contraption completely to further relief his suffering. When she took off the cage, her hands brushed over the side of his swollen cock and Petyr shuddered again, swallowing hard as he rocked for and backwards with a dazed look in his eyes. Sansa didn't know what came over her, but the very sight of him in this desperate state stirred up something dangerously wicked inside her. _I wonder what would happen if I touch him again._ She noticed that his lid now stood erect and rigid. She remembered how she had felt when he slipped his tongue over her clit, and wet her fingers on her tongue before she wrapped her hands around the swollen pink head of his cock.

"Domina." Petyr gasped, before she started moving rhythmically along his shaft, milking him instinctively, and the rest of the world became lost to him. He let out a long broken moan, and pushed and lifted his pelvis forward with every pull of his mistress soft warm hands, squirming and responding helplessly to her every stroke and touch, till his cock started leaking fluids. "Please." He begged, mouth open and drooling a little, as she continued to build op the pressure in his cock and balls. Too dazed by lust to think clearly, he wondered why his client didn't turn him over and fuck him already, but then she caught his eyes again and he remembered that he was with her. Sansa Stark. She wasn't like any of the clients he had served before. _For one thing, she doesn't have a cock to fuck me with._ _But her hands....By Zeus, her hands!_    

Petyr thought that he had long since been conditioned to only come with a cock inside him. That his many years in the whorehouse had instilled in him a preference for sadistic perverted men and that his sense of sexual pleasure had been so twisted by his experiences that he could only reach his peak when he felt shamefully abused and was exposed to a considerable but still bearable amount of pain. But tonight, all of his assumptions had proven to be wrong. His mistress was quite the opposite of all that. Her touch was soft and tender, but still she was able to make him reach a mind blowing climax. He came with Sansa's hands wrapped tightly around his lid, trembling, shivering and gasping, while his cock spurted and jerked, staining his mistress's Egyptian cotton bedsheets as he rocked back and forth like a mindless wreck. After the final drop had spilled, completely exhausted, and with a mind still too dazed to care, he finally came to rest on her shoulder, weakly muttering a string of thank yous into her ears. His mistress remained completely still. It wasn't until he had regained his breath that he leaned back and noticed the look of absolute shock on her face. She held her soiled hands in front of her like she had just touched a leper, and Petyr suddenly realized that the girl might not have known that something would come out of his cock, if she teased and played with it long enough.

"Allow me domina." He opted, and started to lick his own semen from her hands, washing her fingers and palms clean with his tongue. That seemed to satisfy her enough to not make her show any more of her dismay, and soon afterwards, she lay down on the bed and tucked herself under several thick sheep pelts, a warm content smile on her face while her eyes soon started to become heavy with sleep. She didn't seem to mind that Petyr curled up next to her, his chin resting on her tight close to her soft red patch of pubes as he gazed up at his wonderful mistress with something that could have been interpreted as a longing and loving gaze. Not that he was in love with her anything, or so he told himself...but she was truly very beautiful, and she had been very kind to him...more than any other stranger had ever been.

Petyr had not been with many women before. Most if not all of the brothel's clients were men. Although he had been ordered to service them with one or two of the brothel's whores occasionally, his own needs had never been fulfilled by any of those women, and he would end up masturbating in his cell after their client had left. So Petyr had very little to compare Sansa with. He certainly had never felt anything like this for his fellow slaves before. He didn't exactly know what he felt really, but it wasn't lust. He knew what lust was. This was something different... 

It was a deep sort of longing...like how he used to long to be reunited with his family...to go home.

"Domina." He whispered, his mind balancing on the brink of sleep. 

"Yes." Sansa muttered, her own eyes closing.

"Can I please stay with you?" He asked softly. He wasn't telling a lie to please her. He really would rather go with her, no matter what her family background was, than to stay here in the Tyrell's gilded cage. "I don't want to go back to the brothel. I want to stay with you." He whispered.

Sansa didn't answer him, having already fallen asleep.

Petyr took in a deep breath, inhaling her warm scent that now carried a hint of the sweetness of ripe peaches. 

Soon, he too closed his eyes, and followed her in her dreams.

 

**Notes:** Thank you for waiting. As you may imagine, it was not an easy chapter to write (particularly part 3). Let me know what you think. I promise I won't let you wait this long for the next chapter. I shall post a notice for any updates on my [**Tumblr** ](https://florineandthebluebird.tumblr.com/)account.

 

 


	4. Whip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa deals with the aftermath of her night with the brothel slave. Petyr is forced to deal with Trant's sadistic nature.

 

 **Notes:** Part 3 is brutal, for that I sincerely apologize.

 

Suggested music track:

Basically, the whole soundtrack of HBO Rome, which I absolutely adored before they came up with GOT.

[**Rome soundtrack** ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zuniVlOVUtc&list=PL0224608EBC44DBC0)

 

1.

Some way down the road, not far, ten yards, perhaps a bit more, stood a woman in front of the entrance of what appeared to be a walled garden. Sansa approached, and saw that she was dressed in a gown of fine white silk. When she came closer, she noted that she had copper hair and fair white skin. Coming even closer still, and Sansa was stunned when she finally saw her features clearly.

It was almost like she was looking at herself in a mirror. The woman could have been her twin.

“Are you - me?” She asked. There was a faint notion bubbling up in the back of her mind that she could be dreaming. She clearly remembered falling asleep in a soft feather bed in the Tyrell house. Besides, this was simply too weird to be real.

“No my child –“ She laughed, and Sansa recognized her own voice and manners in her laughter. _This is so strange. This definitely must be a dream_.

“Although, I can indeed see the similarities between us.” Her double ganger admitted. “No wonder he fell for you…but do you fall for him too?”

“You mean my betrothed, my sweet and handsome Viserys?” Sansa said hopefully, for who-else, she thought, would she now be thinking of even in her dreams? He was the man who she would soon call her husband and life long soulmate. 

“We were supposed to meet in the public gardens in two days time.” She remembered. A feeling of dread suddenly overcame her, although she had no idea why exactly she felt so nervous. It was difficult to remember things when you have submitted your consciousness to Morpheus, and the winged god of dreams had taken it for a flight.

“No, not proud Viserys Targaryn, but your future husband is indeed waiting for you in the garden. So why don’t you go find him?” The large oak doors of the impressive gate swung wide open before them. As Sansa walked through the entrance, her twin smiled seductively at her. With her soft pink lips, she blew her a kiss through the air.

 _Why am I flirting with myself?_ Sansa thought, slightly alarmed. _That’s it, no matter what Margaery tells me next time, I am definitely_ not _going to any of her debased orgies again._

She walked into a lush garden where manicured boxwood hedges framed a sea of scented pink and white flowers in the borders. Beautifully crafted statues of woodland nymphs adorned the greenery along her path, while in the back, cool water cascaded down a well-sculpted rock fountain. She strolled underneath the cool shade of a line of cypresses till she reached a large peach tree that stood in the middle of the garden.

The tree looked centuries old. The trunk had grown twisted. The bark was bleached a ghostly grey by many bygone summers, but despite its apparent age, it still carried a magnificent canopy of green, and its branches hung low and heavy with fruit.

In spite of what the woman had told her, the garden seemed to be deserted. Sansa believed that she was alone, but then she heard a rustle of leaves, followed by one of the branches of the peach tree sweeping down behind the tree trunk. She walked around it, to find out what had caused this commotion.

A young boy, perhaps 8 years of age, was balancing on one of the lower branches, his nimble body stretched far, trying to reach a ripe peach. He stood very precariously, reaching out with one hand while he stood on the very tips of his sandals. Sansa worried that he might fall and hurt himself.

“Hey, do you need help with that?” She offered, just to be kind.

The boy turned around. He had black curly hair and grey green eyes that stared at her wide and large. The child seemed surprised to see her here. “What are you doing in my father’s garden?” He asked.

“Sorry, I didn’t know that it was a private garden. I really didn’t mean to trespass.”

“No one ever comes in here.” He seemed sad when he said it. He turned his gaze away from her and went back to trying to get to the fruit. He was obviously not tall enough to reach it. Sansa watched him struggle on for a while. Then she walked over, reached for it standing on her toes, and plucked the fruit herself.

“Here. This is easier.” She smiled kindly at him as she offered him the peach.

“Thank you.” The boy replied, his voice soft with hesitation and awkward politeness.

It turned out that she didn’t really need to worry about him, for the boy was as agile as a tree squirrel. Within a few seconds, he had climbed back down and hit the ground running, as if he wanted to flee from her, while hiding the fruit away in a fold of his tunic.

“Hey, you’re not going to eat that?” Sansa called after him. For some reason, she was kind of expecting that he was going to hungrily devour it in one go.

“It’s for my little sister.” The boy explained hastily, before he rushed through the peristyle and disappeared inside a large townhouse that was until now, hidden from her view behind the line of cypress trees.

“What a strange little boy.” Sansa muttered after she was left alone again. She decided to make her way back. At the gate, her double ganger was still waiting for her.

“Did you find him?” She asked.

“There was no one there, except for a very awkward little boy up in a fruit tree.”

“Maybe you didn’t want to find him. Or maybe you came too early.”

Sansa had no idea what she was talking about, but then she thought, this was almost certainly a dream, and dreams often didn’t make sense to her any way.

Her thoughts were shattered by a sudden flash of wings. The woman, who had just stood right in front of her only a moment ago, had disappeared…just when a snow white dove that had been hiding in a nearby bush took to the sky.

 

2.

She woke up with the morning sunlight shining brightly through her eyelids. The rush of flapping wings was still ringing in her ears.

 _That was such a strange dream._ She yawned loudly as she stretched herself, the cotton bed sheets still curled around her waist like an amorous white python. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she gazed around.

This wasn’t her own bed.

 _I spent the night at Margy’s._ She then recalled. _There was a slave…. Petyr…that was his name. I let him –_

_Oh God._

Her cheeks flushed when she remembered what she had done last night. Instinctively she clutched the sheets tightly against her breasts. She half turned to the crumbled heap beside her. _He has to leave immediately._ She panicked. _He really can’t stay! I would die of embarrassment if he says anything to me now!_

But the space in the bed next to her was unoccupied. Only an empty bundle of sheets, and a slight indentation in the feather mattress. Expecting that he had crawled down to the floor to spend the night, she searched nearby, but he wasn’t sleeping there either. Curious, Sansa then stuck her head under the bedframe. There were only cobwebs, dustballs, and a lonely lizard that was trying to hide away from her curious eyes.

The brothel slave was gone.

 _Maybe that was a dream too._ She thought, but then she noticed the dark patches on the bed cover, right underneath her buttocks. She had stained the bed linen with her own juices when Petyr made her come. This awkward evidence of his existence brought her back to her senses and caused her to even fret more than that she already did.

M _aybe one of the Tyrell slaves removed him from my bedroom after I fell asleep._

If it was true, the whole Tyrell household could be fully informed by now about what had happened last night here in the guest chamber. Her mother always said that house slave gossip reached their masters’ ears faster than wildfires could spread over dry fields. She barely dared to get out of her room after she had dressed herself – and paced up and down in front of her bed, till Margaery sent her handmaiden to fetch her.

The young slave requested her in a friendly but pressing way to please join her mistress at breakfast. Sansa despaired. Etiquette dictated that it was impossible to politely reject this without insulting her host. She heard her mother tell her, that she was a guest in the house of the Roses, and should behave as one.

Sansa finally emerged from her room. She followed the handmaiden to the patio garden. Margaery was waiting for her in one of the three sunrooms. This one was facing east, overlooking the perfectly clipped boxwood borders and generously caught the morning sun. Despite the early hour, her friend looked well dressed and gorgeous as always.

“Sansa!” Margaery said most cheerfully. She was overcompensating to hide her annoyance with Sansa’s long absence. “Finally, I thought you were going to sleep a hole in the day.” She embraced her and kissed her cheeks. “Come sit down and join me.”

There was a spread of fresh bread with figs and honey laid out on a low gilded table. Sansa noticed that there was also a silver plate heaped high with pink plumb peaches.

As Sansa reclined on the sofa next to her, Margaery waved her hand to signal to the slaves to pour her a goblet of fresh goat’s milk. She caught Sansa staring at the peaches on the tray. “Have one.” She offered. “They are just in season and absolutely delicious. Grand-mama sent these to us from her villa in Ostia.”

“No thanks.” Sansa wondered if Margaery already knew everything and was just teasing her, but her best friend seemed to truly have no idea what had happened last night. She was very curious thought, to find out. “And-“ Margaery gazed at her with an inquisitive glint in her eyes.

“And what?” Sansa took a tiny sip from the cooled goat’s milk.

“How did it go?”

“It went well.”

Margaery waited impatiently for her friend to further elaborate. When the juicy bits didn’t come, she leaned towards Sansa and gently stroked her arm.

“I know what you think, but there really is no need to be embarrassed about this. To tell you a secret.” Her voice lowered into a conspiring whisper: “I myself have slept with slaves before, and so of course has Loras. Similar to dozens of our friends.” She let that sink in for a while till she the initial shock dissipated from Sansa’s face. “The young and beautiful of our generation simply aren’t so strict about these things anymore.”

Smiling encouragingly, she took her friend’s hand in hers. “You can tell me anything.” She gave Sansa her most sincere, sweetest look, knowing very well that it would make it nearly impossible for her friend to refuse her now. “I swear, I won’t tell anyone else.”

“You don’t?” Sansa still looked a little hesitant.

“Not another soul. So, did you enjoy it?"

Sansa thought of how Petyr had dived under her nightgown and had touched her most secret parts with his talented tongue. She recalled the look on his face when he came back up for a rest: His cheeks glowing, his grey green eyes gazing adoringly at her while he licked her juices from his lips. The strange warm feeling she had felt last night when she was with him, fully returned to the pit of her belly.

“Yes…Yes I think I did enjoy it.” Sansa didn’t even notice that she was smiling. “The slave that Loras had selected, he’s called Petyr. He was very sweet.”

“Petyr?”

“His master calls him Littlefinger…but I didn’t want to call him that. It was probably just a name he made up to bully him. It didn’t seem right to use it. He was…very gentle.”

Margaery was alarmed to see that Sansa had a dreamy far-away look in her eyes. “What else did you do?” She asked cautiously.

“We just talked.” That was of course, a bit fat lie. Sansa didn’t even know that it could be this easy for her to lie to her best friend. She certainly had never done it before. Well, not without clever Margaery seeing right through it immediately. “He told me he used to climb the peach tree in his parent’s garden to pick the fruit for his little sister.” _So that’s where my peculiar dream came from._ Sansa realized with yet another smile.

She must have done something right. For once, Margaery seemed to believe her. ”You only _talked_ to him?”

“”Yes, and then he turned out to be starving. His master is such a brute! Did you see the way he looked? He’s really skinny. I could almost count all of his ribs. So I offered my supper to him.”

“Sansa!” Margaery exclaimed, showing her typical – _I can’t believe you!_ – face. Sansa hated it when she did that. It always made her feel completely foolish. “Next thing you know, you’re going to tell me you let him sleep in your bed!” She exclaimed.

 Sansa’s cheeks flushed red again. She clearly recalled how she had allowed him to cuddle up to her.

“You didn’t.” Margaery shook her pretty head in revulsion. “Didn’t you mother tell you that pets and slaves belong on the floor?”

“I know I know.” Sansa panicked, fully aware that her friend was absolutely right. “-but I really was very sleepy. I forgot to tell him. He didn’t do anything though. He was exhausted. He just wanted to sleep too.” Another memory of Petyr came to her. She was already half dozing off. He was lying with his head in her lap and gazed up to ask her for something. Something that seemed very important to him.

“Oh God.” Sansa muttered. “He asked me to keep him. _I can’t. I really can’t_! Although, she actually wanted to. There was no denying it, she really liked the young slave, more than she would like to openly admit to anyone. “That’s absolutely not possible. My parents are going to flip if they find out!“

“There is no reason to panic.” Margaery said, trying to calm her. “It’s just a silly request from a rented brothel slave. You’re not obliged to take care of him in any way. For one thing, I find it very audacious that he even dared to ask for such a thing.”

“He didn’t really ask. He pleaded. He begged me to take him out of that brothel. They must treat him horribly there. He was really terrified to go back.”

“Well in that case…he had a stroke of bad luck.” Margaery muttered, as she took a bite from her fig.

“What? What do you mean?” Sansa asked worriedly. “Where is he?”

“I told Servus to return him after you no longer needed him. He was brought back to the brothel early in the morning.” Margaery said, taking a good look at what she had just bitten into. “Ew, this one is mushy!” Digusted, she flung it out into the garden. “I thought it tasted funny. I really must have a word with our cook.”

“Margy!” Sansa couldn’t believe that her friend could be worrying about the quality of her breakfast right now while she was clearly having a crisis.

“I didn’t know you liked him.” Margaery sighed, rolling her eyes up to the ornate ceiling. “I had to return him. Otherwise Loras is going to demand that we keep him. I promised father that I keep an eye on Loras’s expenses while he is away in Sicily. You know how I hate to quarrel with my dear brother. It’s better if his hot new toy is out of sight and therefore, out of mind, before he remembers and throws one of his horrible little boy’s tantrums.”

Sansa almost sulked and felt desperately disappointed by her inconsiderate friend _. But what about me? What about what I want?_ She wanted wail, but instead she said:“You can’t do this to him. He was truly terrified to go back.”

“Sansa, he’s a brothel slave. The lowest of the low. Of course he would tell you that he’s mistreated. He was just trying to make you feel sorry for him, so you would treat him better.”

“You don’t know that. If anything he seemed very sincere. I don’t think he even knows how to lie.” She recalled those innocent grey green eyes and her heart melted again.

“What do you want me to do? “ Margaery opted. “I’m definitely, not going to buy him for our household and you can’t take him home with you.”

“I just…I want to see him again.” Sansa finally admitted. It was a rare moment of boldness and full sincerity. “If we could just help him to find a better master.”

She quickly corrected herself, when she saw the disapproving look on Margaery’s face. “Maybe, I could borrow some money from one of my brothers…or ask them to buy him for their own use.” She was rambling now, clearly not thinking things through. “As long as he’s not my own, I don’t think there’s anything against it.” She proposed weakly.

 _Oh by Venus, what have I done?_ Margaery could recognize the beginnings of an unhealthy obsession in Sansa’s desperate gaze. These were clear signs that she had seen in her brother’s eyes a thousand times before. Her poor friend was completely besotted with that brothel slave. Margaery was repulsed. It was one thing to bed a slave and to use him for your own sexual pleasure, but to feel real affection for one…that was absolutely quite scandalous…it was the sort of thing that could ruin a young woman’s reputation if it ever came to light…Still, Sansa was her best friend in the world. She was like a sister to her…and it was also a little bit her fault for pushing her into this when she was so very obviously, completely not ready.

“I could arrange another dinner party and send Servus out again to rent him.” Margaery grudgingly offered to Sansa. “You two could then spend another night together. After that, we’ll see how it goes.”

“Oh thank you Margy!” Sansa exclaimed, and embraced her tightly. “You are a true _true_ friend.”

“Anything to make you happy.” Margaery muttered, thinking that she actually could be doing her more harm than good.

_Let’s just hope that her sudden fascination with him does not last very long._

Based on what she had experienced with Loras, she would give it two month tops.

 

3.

For a very brief moment between the lashings, Petyr had time to ponder about what he hated more, the searing pain that came with every blow, or the dozen pairs of eyes that were now gaping at him. He was hanging naked in the street, his wrists chained from a wooden beam that protruded from the wall near the entrance of the brothel. He though he hated those giggling, condemning, patronizing looks the most, that vile sea of mostly familiar faces from the nearby Suburra, who seemed to be able to amuse themselves so much at his expense….but then the whip came down again on his poor ruined back. It fully changed his mind.

He _definitely_ , hated the pain the most.

“Told you I was going to give you a good trashing when you come back.” Trant said triumphantly, really enjoying humiliating him in public. “So - welcome home Littlefinger! Now if I could just make you scream…”

As the lashes continued to rain down on his back, Petyr bit his lower lip to ruin to stop himself from doing exactly that. He didn’t want that sick malicious bastard to know that kind of satisfaction.

_I am not going to cry out. I am not going to make any sound. I am just going to bear this. He can’t go on forever. He’s tiring himself out. He will have to stop sooner or later._

_Oh please, please have mercy on me, and let him stop._

It wasn’t until midday, when the sun had reached its summit, and was cooking the flagstones in the open streets that Trant finally put away his whip. Sweating like a pig, but fully satisfied, he retreated back inside the brothel to take shelter from the worst of the coming heat.

Sensing that the show was over, the hated crowd dispersed itself, and Petyr was finally left alone.

It was the full height of summer and the sun was merciless. With hooded eyes, Petyr stared up at the sky, silently praying to the Gods for clouds to shield him from the worst of the scorch. But none of them wanted to hear him. The sky remained bright blue without a single overcast. Petyr was distraught. He couldn’t remember that he had been in this much agony before.

Not far above him, on the balcony of a nearby apartment, perched a small black and grey bird. He thought he saw it turn its head sideways to look down at him with pity in its mournful eyes.

Hours passed, and it became truly searing. The streets were deserted. Every living creature that could flee had taken shelter from the burning sun. The houses nearby radiated heat like the walls of an oven and made the hot air tremble like a mirage in the desert. Peter’s throat and tongue were parched. He moaned when the sun began to cook his lacerated back. The sickly stench that came from his wounds summoned legions of black flies, rising like a malignant black shroud from the garbage heaps in nearby alleyways. By the end of the afternoon, his back was crawling with them.

He was driven half out of his mind by the relentless itching of his burnt and scarred skin and the constant loud buzzing near his ears.

When the sun finally started to set behind the apartment blocks, he could no longer stand on his own. With his wrists still shackled in the iron chains that held him from the ground, the rest of him was sagging forward, his head on his chin, his eyes staring down at the dust and his dirty feet. He was so delirious of dehydration and suffering from heatstroke that he barely noticed that Trant had returned.

“Did you enjoy your special day out?” Trant pulled the slave’s head up by his hair to make him look in his eyes. “You look like a roast pig.” He grinned, commenting on his awful sunburns.

“You are always nagging and nagging and nagging me to let you go outside. Now you had your wish. You see what a bad idea that is.” He stroked over Petyr’s wounds with the hilt of his whip. Despite what he had promised himself, Petyr let out a pained, frightened whimper.

“Such thin girly skin all of you damned whores have.” Trant mused. “It’s because you lazy fucks never have to do anything but to lie in bed all day, and spread your ass cheeks wide when you’re told.”

“P-please.” Petyr blurted out. His voice was now as equally broken as his spirit. “N-no more.”

“Oh no. You don’t get to tell me when it’s enough.” Trant grinned, folding out his whip. “ _I_ get to decide.”

When the tip made contact and re-opened the lashes that he had just acquired this morning, Petyr couldn’t hold it in any longer, and he hollered madly, mindlessly, like an injured dog being cruelly chastised by his master. His howls were loud enough to grab the attention of the crowd. The brothel was close to a number of well-visited taverns, and soon the clients came out into the cooling night to see what all that screaming was about. Most were sickened by what they saw. They quickly returned to their whores and gambling tables, but enough of them stayed out to watch. It made his whole ordeal so much more unbearable.

“Look at that! He’s pissing himself!” One of the onlookers cheered, evoking a round of loud laughter from the others.

Petyr saw the fat drunkard grin at him as he poured more wine down his gullet before placing his wine soaked lips on his whore’s mouth. Having indeed lost control of his bladder, he desperately tried to cross his legs to hide the trickle of urine that still ran down his thighs. He was in such pain and was so filled with shame and horror that he just wished that the ground would open up and swallow him whole. He kept begging the cruel Gods for such a mercy, till a man came forward from the hated crowd of rowdy fools.

“Stop that!” His voice was stern and commanding.

Petyr was too far gone to really register what was going on, but he noticed with great relief and gratitude, that the horrible lashing had finally stopped.

“What?” Trant snapped, more annoyed than alarmed. “What do you want?”

“I want you to stop killing him.” The man was tall. Much taller than Petyr was. Dressed in an army tunic with a leather apron decorated with stripes beneath a crimson cloak, he looked like a soldier from the Roman legions.

“I am not killing him.” Trant replied. “He’s one of our brothel slaves. I am teaching him a valuable lesson.”

The man pointed out the slave plaque that hung from Trant’s thick sweaty neck. “You’re a slave yourself.”

“My master has granted me the authority to discipline his stock whenever he’s away.” Trant was clearly resentful for being reminded that he was slave. He had dealt with soldiers often. They frequently visited the brothel. Trant knew that inside the sacred city walls, they have to behave themselves like any other normal Roman citizen. In his eyes, There was nothing more fancy about them than the average Jon with a hard-on coming in from the streets.

 _Idiot._ Petyr thought, after he had taken a better look at the man. He was not _just_ a normal soldier on leave who was squandering away his pay in one of the taverns.  _Look closer Petyr,_ he heard his father say. He was seven, sitting on his father’s broad shoulders, cheering as he watched the triumphant victory parade in honor of the great general Tywin Lannister pass by through the streets that led to the forum. His father had pointing the great man out to him. _You see what he’s wearing?_ He told his son. _A cloak lined with gold, embroidered with the sigil of the noble Lannister family. Do you recall what that is Petyr?_

Petyr told his father that it was a roaring lion, and his father had nodded proudly at his son. _His military belt is adorned with these same proud lions._ He further told him: _This man is a tribunus, a general of noble birth who has fought and won many victories for the glory of our empire. Now that the gods have returned him home safely, he shall be rewarded by Rome and become a senator so he can help to govern our great state._

The rim of his deep red cloak was fringed with gold thread. On his belt, Petyr saw an emblem depicting a silver trout, skipping out of the water. He couldn’t remember to which noble house this sigil belonged, but he knew that this man was of noble birth and certainly no ordinary Roman soldier - and would not accept to be addressed like one by some insolent cocky slave from the gutters of the Suburra.

“So if you could just fuck off, I would like to continue doing my job.” Trant told him, completely oblivious who he was addressing. He was about to crack the whip again on Petyr’s bloodied back when the man grabbed hold of his wrist.

“I said no.” He told him in an icy voice.

“Look soldier boy –“ Trant snapped back furiously. “If you are in so love with him, come back tomorrow and pay up. It’s after the 11th hour. We’re closed. Stop sticking your nose into some-one else’s -”

Trant could not finish, for one of the broad-shouldered men standing behind Petyr’s savior had punched him full on his mouth. The violent impact broke two of his front teeth.

“Wha-“ Trant gargled, spitting out blood and loose bits of ivory. “You fu-“ Another blow, this time it cracked and flattened his nose and sent him tumbling to the ground. Despite still suffering from much pain, Petyr smiled vindictively when he watched how the slave master was continuously thumped in he face, till it resembled a mashed up bloodied melon, bobbing on his trembling shoulders.

Petyr’s savior let it go on for a while before he raised his hand to his servant, letting him know that it was enough.

He stood over Trant and gazed down at him with indifference in his eyes. “Let that be a lesson. Slaves are not supposed to talk like that to their betters.” He reached out for something around his waist. Trant whimpered, afraid that it would be a dagger to finish him off, but instead, it was a bag of coins.

“I buy him from your master.” He shook out some coins, counted and tossed them on the flagstones next to Trant. “I belief, 4 denaries should be more than enough, considering the rubbish state he’s in.”

Petyr heard the most gratifying sound when the noble man stepped into a puddle of blood and vomit and grinded one of Trant’s broken teeth into the ground with his army boot. Then Petyr felt the strain on his wrists lifted when he was finally released from the beam. He was dragged away by two strong servants, who followed their tall military master in his stride.

 _A trout skipping from the water._ He heard his father ask him patiently as he showed his child the picture in the scrolls in the study. _Do you remember from which house this sigil is Petyr?_

“Tully.” He muttered, eyes half closed as they dragged him to a horse cart waiting at other the end of the street.

The young nobleman turned around. “What did you just say?”

“Tully. That’s the house to which the sigil belongs.” Petyr mumbled, still half delirious and believing himself to be conversing with his long lost father.

For a moment, the noble man gazed back at him with surprise in his steel gaze. Then an amused grin spread over his lips. “An educated brothel slave. That’s certainly something rare.”

He let his servants hoist up the injured slave onto the back of the cart and ordered them to chain him up, before he mounted his horse.

 

4.

Time passed as fleetingly and unnoticed as the outside scenery, while Petyr continued to drift in and out of consciousness. During the hottest hours of the day, he was aware that someone pushed a flask of water against his lips. Feeling truly nauseated, he barely managed to drink from it. Despite a canvas roof that covered the cart, it was still too horribly hot. After the sun finally went down and night came to cool the air, he felt somewhat better. When he was then brought a bowl of stew, he managed to devour it in less than a minute - after which he spent the rest of the night retching everything out again. No matter how starved he was, his body was too dehydrated to digest anything.

The next day, he wisely stuck to only water, forcing himself to drink as much as he could and pleading for more when he had finished the flask. By the time they arrived at their destination in the late afternoon, Petyr was able to sit up by himself, although they still needed to help him leave the cart. Petyr found himself standing in a courtyard of a impressive country villa. Nearby, a flat stone path led to a vast veranda perched on a white cliff overlooking the sea. As they led him away towards the house, Petyr lingered as much as he dared for a brief moment to look over this immense square of blue that disappeared into the far horizon. A cool coastal wind swept through his curls and cooled down the sweat on his skin.

The sea was just like how he remembered it from those long lost summers that he had spend in his grandfather’s villa as a boy. It was beautiful.

“Take him to the guest bathhouse and clean him up.” The noble man ordered, and went inside. Petyr was taken through a peristyle, past an orchard of lemon and peach trees, through a magnificent garden to the other side of the villa. There he was handed over to a bald sour-looking man, who examined petyr like he was looking at some dirt stuck underneath his sandal with his one clear eye. The other was clouded and twitched as if there was a grain of sand constantly irritating it. He dragged him inside by his dog-collar, shoved him in a corner, and went out, shutting the door behind.

Petyr gazed around. He was in a small private bath-house. There was a sunken tub cut out in the marble floor in the middle of the space. There was also a skylight in the roof that flooded the otherwise windowless room with daylight. In the golden beams of the late afternoon sun, Petyr saw that the walls and floors were adorned with erotic paintings of slender woodland nymphs, frolicking around the country side half naked or fully nude. They were chased by horny little men with goat’s feet and horns with great erections protruding from their groins.

After having seen and experienced the decadence of the house of the Roses, it suddenly dawned to Petyr that the most powerful and highly regarded families in Rome also had the most vulgar kind of taste.

The door opened and the bald man returned, bringing with him two muscular slaves, each carrying two heavy pails of water. The bald man gestured to Petyr to get down into the sunken tub. There he was pushed down on all fours, douched with a bucket of water, and scrubbed clean from top to bottom with a course pig hair brush that was normally used to sweep the dust from a horse’s coat. The very little regard the bald man had for his wounds, made the brush hairs and the puddles at his feet soon turn pink with blood. By the time he was finished, Petyr though that he had barely any skin left, and crawled out of the tub and into a corner of the bathhouse with his back protectively against the wall in a weak attempt to prevent anymore merciless scrubbing. He didn’t need to worry. The work done, the bald man and the slaves left, locking him in again.

 

5.

It was not until the afternoon light had completely faded and the room was cast in complete darkness when he heard the turn of a key inside the lock. A single dot of light appeared, and illuminated the frolicking nymphs on the mosaic floor before his feet.

“You’re still up?” The noble man approached him. He held the oil-lamp in such a way that he could he take a good look at Petyr’s face. “I have brought something from our maester for your burns and wounds.” Petyr saw him present a small ceramic bowl. It contained a pale, paste like substance. “I think it’s mainly honey and olive oil, but he assured me there was more in there. Anyway, this should help.” He dipped his fingers into it and told the slave to turn around. Hesitantly, Petyr sat up on his knees and obeyed. When the fatty substance was applied on his lashes, he winced a little, expecting it to sting. Instead, it felt indeed very soothing, and soon he felt the muscles in his abused body relax under his master’s caring touch. This was very hopeful, and Petyr, who had some time now to think over his new circumstances, decided he should immediately try to earn the trust of his new lord. The man certainly seemed benign enough, having just rescues him from the whip while he had no reason to be so merciful.

A good way to start, he so believed, was to show him his gratitude. At least it was something that he did not have to fake.

Anything, to ensure himself a better life.

“Dominus.” Petyr said, getting on his hands and knees again as he bowed his head to him. “Thank you." He looked up, his gaze submissive, eyes pleading for compassion. “Thank you for saving my life. I –“

The noble man pressed a finger on Petyr’s lips. “You talk too much.” He grabbed hold of the chains secured to his dog-collar and pulled hard.

“I don’t like that in a slave.” He began to unbuckle his belt. “Turn around. Face the wall.”

Petyr had experienced enough misery in the brothel to immediately know what his new master wanted. He did what he was told.

 _As long as he only fucks me and doesn’t whip me..._ He thought, but despite of this, he was biting in his lower lip in dread. _It’s not as if I’ve not been fucked before_. He kept reminding himself. _It’s nothing. It’s nothing to me._

 He shrunk back when the belt dropped to the floor and the metal emblem hit the tiles with a loud clatter.

“Relax. I am not going to punish you if you clever, and do what you’re told.”

Petyr gasped when the noble man stood over him and grabbed hold of his hair, pulling hard to bend his head backwards. “Make that sound for me.” he rasped in his ear.

“W-what sound?” Petyr tried to swallow. It was difficult. His master kept jerking his head backwards.

“That moaning sound you made when he whipped you. I want to hear it. Do it.”

Not sure where this was going, but remembering too well what happened to Trant if his new master was to consider him disobedient or impudent, he made a few half-hearted attempts.

“Stop. Stop.” He pulled harder on his hair and chains, half choking him. “You sound ridiculous.” Petyr saw from the corner of his eyes, that he had lifted his tunic, and that his lid was now dangling between his legs in a half limp state. He was obviously turned on, but not enough to really get anywhere with the young slave. His heart skipped a beat when he saw his dominus reach for his dagger.

“Try again.” His new master ordered him. The tip of the blade was now pointing at his throat. “Fake it better, or I am going to make sure that you don’t have to.”

That was enough motivation for Petyr to really try to get it right. Soon, he was moaning loudly, pathetically, as if he had just been lashed and the wounds were still fresh and were causing him agony. “That’s much better.” His master rasped with his hot breath in the back of Petyr’s neck. Two fingers parted the crack of his ass and penetrated deep inside his hole. “Keep doing that.”

Petyr thought of all the people who had gathered outside the tavern, watching him getting whipped. He recalled the looks of disgust and pity when he had wetted himself, and felt the drip of warm urine running down his legs again, stinging the wounds on the inside of his thighs, before they pooled in shameful yellow puddles at his feet. He heard that fat bastard mock him while he wrapped his arm around his whore.

“Good.” His master whispered. He licked up the tears that began to run down Petyr’s face. “Excellent. God I love it when you cry. Keep doing that.” He was rock hard now, and not long after, he started to push into Petyr, opening his hole wide with his thick long shaft.

It wasn’t too bad. It was nothing extraordinary or memorable compared to some of the hells that Petyr had lived through before. He tried to relax and take it all in as the noble man started pounding into him, his loin slapping hard against his ass cheeks while he worked himself into a lustful frenzy.

But Petyr’s back was still raw, and the shock of getting a new master together with what he had been through over the last couple of days just tipped him over his breaking point. Petyr had promised himself to never cry again about his horrid fate, but he couldn’t keep his eyes dry now. It just flowed out, a flood of relentless tears, all the horror and heartache and loneness and anger and frustration, pent up over all these years, rushing out all at once, reducing him into a shivering sobbing mess. His new master loved it. His arousal seemed to feed hungrily, greedily on his misery, and soon he was reaching his climax. Petyr whimpered softly, tears dripping down his chin, splashing onto the cheerful mosaic nymphs on the floor, while his master came inside him, mouth open and gasping, his muscular body shuddering of pure pleasure.

He finally let go of Petyr’s hair and dog chain, and pulled out, letting the milky fluid drip out of the now red and swollen hole.

“You’re alright?” He asked after it was over, and Petyr had retreated in a corner, arms wrapped tightly around his knees. His master wiped the sweat from his face with his cloak before he also cleaned himself with it between his legs. “It didn’t hurt too much?”

“No dominus.” Petyr said weakly, meekly looking down while he licked up the last salty drops from his lips.

His new master crouched down beside him. “You’re very good.” He complimented him, still thinking that all of Petyr’s mournful display of distress was all faked to please him. “You are worth every denary I paid that fat git to get you.” He grinned and ruffled Petyr’s sweaty locks, before he tossed the soiled cloak at him. His slave caught it clumsily.

“I will tell Paine to bring you some food. You can keep that for tonight.” He pointed at his cloak as he noticed how Petyr instinctively tried to cover himself up with it, hugging it tightly against his bare chest and pushing it between his legs. “It needs a good wash anyway.” He said with a half grin. “I will lock the door. I won’t chain you up, but I want you to keep yourself as quiet as a mouse when I am not around. No one but me and a few of my household servants can know that you’re here. Do you understand?”

Petyr, too traumatized to speak, gazed up at him with large anxious eyes.

“I said, understood?” His voice was suddenly full of ice and threat.

Petyr nodded.

“Good.” His master snapped, before he turned and left the room.

Petyr finally dared to let out a frightful whimper after he was gone. He was close to being desperate. He had always wished that he could escape the brothel. Ever since he was sold into slavery, he had dreamed to one day be able to leave that place and never ever return. Now, he didn’t know if he wasn’t better off if he had stayed in the much hated whore house of his previous master.

“Better the devil you know, than the devil you don’t.” He muttered to himself, remembering what his grandfather’s writings had taught him as a boy. He huddled further away in the corner, wrapping the cloak of his new master tightly around his shoulders.

For once, he hoped fiercely that the wisdom of his great ancestor would prove not to be true.

 

**Notes:**

Yes it’s Edmure.

Don’t worry, he’s not so bad as Petyr thinks he is for the moment. You’ll find out.

As always, thank you for reading. I know that it’s always pretty dark what I write and it’s probably not everyone’s cup of tea. But if you read and enjoy my work, please leave a kudos or a comment to let me know. As a writer, you have no other way to know if you’re doing this right or not, except when you get feedback from the people you’re doing this for. You have no idea how much your feedback is appreciated!

For updates, please follow me on my **[Tumblr](https://florineandthebluebird.tumblr.com/) ** account. I usually post new chapters on this story or on my series Mock(ing)bird on Fridays or weekends.

 **Next time:** The Stark women receive an invitation from uncle Edmure to spend the summer in his country villa.

 

 


	5. Bathhouse, part I

**Notes:** Suggested musictracks

**[Volcano](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZduDvIBu3EU) **

 

1.

“-so with the northern territories above the river Rhine finally secured, I will soon start sending the prisoners back to Rome to you. Much still needs to be arranged, but expect them to arrive early in the sixth month. Send them to Canus Caelius Cimber to get them accustomed to our climate before selling them at the autumn market. Make sure the slavetrader feeds them well, and keeps the women together with their children. They should fetch a good floor price of at least 50 denaries for each able bodied man, and 30 denaries for each of the women. Don’t accept less than 10 for the children.”

Catelyn stopped reading and glanced up at her two daughters who sat with her in the shaded gardenroom to read their father’s latest letter. As expected, Arya had dozed off with her head slumped against the back of the chair, while Sansa silently stared ahead with a look of pure boredom in her impatient eyes. Catelyn sighed, and wisely decided to quickly skip to the end. “And finally –“ She continued, raising her voice to regain their attention. “Give my girls a kiss and tell them that I miss them. I look forward to the day when I shall return home and be in my family’s loving arms again.”

That did the trick. Arya snapped right awake. “What?-What did I miss?”

“Nothing.” Sansa sulked. “There was nothing in that letter for us.”

“That’s not true.” Catelyn corrected her. “Your father just said that he was really looking forward to see us again.” She explained to Arya while she lowered the letter and held it in her lap.

“Was that all?” Sansa exclaimed. “Two lousy little lines? He wasted more on describing the muddy scenery and the unwashed savages!”

“Sansa dear.” Catelyn patiently tried to explain. “Your father has a lot on his mind. He has been leading his legions to subdue the most dreadful revolts since the time of our first emperor. You must forgive him. I know he has been away for a very long time now, but he is doing this to protect us and to protect the realm.”

“I asked him in my last letter if he was going to back in be in time for my wedding. He said nothing about. He didn’t even mention it.” Sansa huffed.

“I am sure he’s going to try very hard.” Catelyn gave her daughter a tired little smile, trying to cheer her up. “You know your father. He would never want to miss the wedding of his little girl.”

“I am not little.” Sansa muttered. “I am not a babe anymore, unlike Arya here.” She eyed angrily at her little sister for no particular reason, other than that she was bloody annoyed, and her father wasn’t here to receive her wrath. “He could have at least written me a few lines." She continued to complain, plucking at her silk sleeves. "It wouldn’t have taken so much of his precious time.”

"Huh. Who stepped on your bloody shadow lately?" Arya retorted, receiving a dismissive look from her mother, which she completely ignored. "Seriously, you’ve been acting like a complete cow ever since you came back from that stay-over party at Margaery’s. What happened, did Loras gave you the cold shoulder again?”

Sansa immediately turned bright red. "Mum! She is teasing me again! Make her stop!"

“I thought it was only going to be Viserys lizard face from now on.” Arya grinned, knowing exactly how to make her sibling explode, and enjoying every minute of it.

“Girls, look! Another letter!” Catelyn said, pretending not to hear and faking cheerfulness. She was tired of these needles quarrels, and didn’t want to deal with anything that forced her to take sides, for she knew that it was impossible not to lose. “This one is from your dear uncle Edmure and aunt Selyse.”

That immediately managed to distract her daughters from their imminent catfight. “Ugh” Arya grunted, while Sansa just rolled her eyes and sighed deeply at all the unfairness and hardship her supposedly loving family was putting her through.

“You want to read it aloud for practice?” Catelyn offered to her youngest daughter.

“No thanks. I rather go to the library and read something from those dead Greek guys.” Arya muttered.

“You are a little savage.” Sansa said.

“You go read it then.”

“I don’t want to read it.”

“I read it, shall I?” Catelyn hurriedly suggested, anything really to prevent these two from killing each-other. “My dear sister.” She started in a clear voice. “I have wonderful news. Selyse is finally blessed with another child. The maesters have examined her and have sacrificed a cockerel to Hera, and they have ensured me that the merciful Goddess has granted me a healthy son, to born by the end of the sixth month. On request of my beloved wife, I want to invite you to our ancestral villa in Campania. I have heard that Ned is still away on campaign with your sons, and that the Stark summer villa in Toscana is being refitted, and is currently unavailable to you and your family to escape the summer-heat. It will be my pleasure to welcome you as our guests -”

“Surely we are not going!” Sansa interrupted, aghast with the prospect. “We’re staying in Rome, aren’t we mother?”

“Well…” Catelyn lowered the letter. “I was thinking, maybe we should go. It’s getting awfully hot in the city. Last night, it was so warm that we all had much trouble sleeping.”

“But I don’t want to go.” Sansa said. “I don’t mind the heat, what I do mind is going to some dump in the countryside where they don’t even have decent plumbing.” _Ancestral_ , that sounded possibly ancient, and remembering how her uncle’s town house in Napels used to look like before it was accidentally burnt down, she was kind of expecting the worst kind of slum dwelling that had to pass for a house.

“It's not that bad. You girls have never been there before, but your uncle Edmure’s villa used to be your grandfather’s. I remember it very well from I was young." She smiled fondly at the memory. "It is near the coast, and sits on a white cliff right above the sea. The gardens are cool and shaded and the house itself is beautiful. I am sure you will both adore it once you have seen it."

“But what about aunt Selyse?” Arya noted. “Uncle Edmure never invites us after he got married, except when his wife is pregnant again.”

Cat knew exactly what her clever daughter meant. “She is scared. She doesn’t want to be alone when the time comes. It’s only understandable after all that she has been through.”

“Aunt Selyse isn’t alone, she has servants and slaves - and of course uncle Edmure.” Sansa sighed.

Yes, your dear uncle Edmure, who will pretend to be brave and manly, but retreats as soon as her tissues start to tear and the head comes poking through, Catelyn thought, grimly recalling how it went the last time Selyse was pregnant. It all went horribly wrong and ended with the maester having to cut away the child to save the mother. Her poor brother nearly became a widow for a second time. “She needs support from other women.” She said, determined to do the right thing and help out. “I know how very painful and frightening it is to bring a child to this world. One day, you two shall understand it too. If she requests our help, then we should be there to support her.”

If Catelyn thought that that would raise some compassion for their much troubled aunt, she was wrong. Sansa merely furrowed her brows in irritation and Arya just looked utterly disgusted…so much for trying to get them excited about motherhood. “So we’re definately going?” Sansa sulked.

“Yes we are. Septa!” Catelyn turned to her trusted house slave. “Prepare ink and paper. I want to write a letter to Edmure and send it out before the last post carrier leaves the city.”

“How long do we have to stay?” Sansa asked.

“Till the end of the sixth month, or untill your aunt has given birth.”

“What? I can’t stay away that long! What about my beloved Viserys?”

 _My beloved Viserys._ Catelyn still needed to get used to the way her daughter spoke about the boy she had met, how often now? Only 5 times? “It’s just two months with your loving family, you and your betrothed still have the rest of your whole lives together.” Catelyn sighed, wishing that her daughter would stop obsessing about him so much. “I am sure he will understand.”

“No he won’t. It’s too long mother! What if he forgets about me, or finds another girl because he misses me and is lonely?” _Or worse._ Sansa panicked. _What if he is bored with me already and finally sees a chance to get to know other girls who are way prettier than me while I am away?_

“You two are betrothed. If he does that, he shall shame his own family and himself.”

Sansa wasn’t much reassured. “Can I at least ask him to come visit me?”

“Oh no.” Arya said, eyes wide in shock. “No, that’s too much. Not him too.”

“It’s actually not such a bad idea.” Cat wanted to meet her daughter’s future husband to get to know him better for quite a while now, but with Ned and her sons away in Germania it had been improper to invite him over when there were only women present in the household. That wouldn’t be a problem when Edmure was there to host his visit. “I could ask your uncle to send out the official invitation to him.” She suggested to Sansa.

“Are you kidding me?” Arya muttered, absolutely horrified. “I am going to spend my summer with Lizard face and aunt crazy? Mum you seriously can’t do this to me!”

But Cat had already decided, and no amount of nagging of pleading from her youngest daughter could change her mind. She ordered Septa to give Sansa a second writing set. “Write to Viserys. I will send it along with the letter to your uncle.” She told her.

“Yes mother.” Sansa said dutifully, and secretly flashed a triumphant smile to her younger sibling, knowing exactly how to taunt her just enough to make her suffer.

 

2.

“Yes. That’s it.” Edmure rasped. His mouth was close to Petyr's ear, and his breath hot on the fine hairs on the back of Petyr's neck as he wrapped his arms tighter around his thin waist. His embrace held the boy completely pinned down on his lap as he sat in the soft mount of hay that now covered the bottom of the basin in the bathhouse. The slave held his eyes shut, legs parted and on his knees, his well oiled hole impaled and clenching, while he swayed fore and backward, slowly riding on his master’s cock. A horse harness, complete with a metal bit and reins, was fastened with leather straps over his head. Taken from the stables, the bit was too large and hardly fitted inside his mouth. Edmure noticed that the boy was constantly trying to readjust it, rolling his tongue up against the metal rod and sucking on his lower lip whenever he pulled on the reins. It made poor Petyr drool helplessly and incessantly, and Edmure watched with fascination how a slow trickle of spit dripped down on the slave's painfully swollen, but until now, fully neglected cock and made it gleam in the light.

Edmure thought that just like this, his little fuck toy looked absolutely irresistible.

Meanwhile, with every hit of his master’s firm erection on his prostate, Petyr’s arousal swelled till he came close to bursting, sending him into a wave of spastic compulsions, his thin sweaty body wriggling madly in an attempt to set himself free so he could shamelessly masturbate himself to a climax. But Petyr’s hands were held firmly behind his back by his master’s strong grip that also held the reins. He was his plaything, his pet, and if Edmure didn’t want him to come, he simply won’t, no matter how much he moaned and begged.

“That’s it.” Edmure’s other hand finally slipped down and was now on Petyr’s cock. He started milking him with a rough but skilled touch, pulling slowly, ending each stroke with his thumb kneading deep into the sensitive head that was now all pink and glistening. Petyr whimpered, his mind awash with pain and pleasure, while the rest of him fully submitted to his master's orders.

“That’s it!” Edmure pushed his hips up violently, banging against Petyr’s ass. It made the little fat the boy had on his backside ripple, while his heavy balls slapped against the slave’s tingling testicles. His hold on the horse reins tightened, and Petyr yelped in fright when Edmure looped the leash around his neck and pulled hard. The whimper became a soft choked groan when the air was cut off from his lungs…just for a few seconds, while his master’s cock continued to drill into him, each penetration hitting a new maddening high, till he finally came, his trembling lid squirting the milky liquid between his master’s fingers, while Edmure flooded his hole and belly with his hot seed.

“Good.” Edmure groaned. He finally let go of the reins, and let Petyr collapse back in his arms, gasping desperately to fill his much deprived lungs with air. He gently removed the head gear and took the horse bit out of his mouth to help him breathe. He kept his twitching cock inside the slave’s body while his fingers went back to work on the boy's now half limp penis and continued to milk him till it squirted out the last few drops. He knew it was time to stop, but Petyr looked so deliciously helpless, his body all limp and soft of exhaustion. Edmure watched him breathe in silence, mesmerized for a moment by the slow rising and falling of his chest, and the reed thin arms resting by his side. Those beautiful pink blushes on his cheeks, and those tired hooded eyes, gazing up at him, begging him to be merciful.

God, may Athena bring him back to his senses, but how truly impossible it was not to be completely smitten with this fragile innocent-looking creature!

Edmure had taken slaves before, and he certainly liked boys more than he liked girls, that much he knew and dared to admit to himself, but Petyr….Petyr was different. He did something to his head. It was like he had bewitched him. How often now in the last few months had he not left the bathhouse much later at night than intended after he had the boy suck him off for hours before he flipped him over to fuck him so hard and long that the slave passed out of pure exhaustion in the hay, only for him to return in the early morning hours, with a fiery lust for more?

No matter how often the young noble took the slave, it never seemed to be enough. Petyr was almost an addiction to him.

“This is yours.” Edmure wiped the slave's cum from his soft velvet balls. It was completely obscene, but he really would love to lick that all up and find out what his beautiful boy would taste like. He would love to take his cock inside his mouth. He couldn’t of course. No respected Roman would suck a slave. So instead he did the next best thing, and held his fingers, sticky with seed, in front of Petyr's lips. “Clean this up. Lick yourself clean for me.” Edmure ordered in a hoarse whisper.

Petyr obeyed. He always did. He was clever enough to realize from the beginning that his new master was someone with an exceptionally low tolerance to disobedience. Insecurity creates many flaws in a man’s character, and after watching and studying him carefully for the past few months, Petyr had come to the conclusion that Edmure was a man with _many_ insecurities. But it was not that Edmure Tully was unkind. He was certainly not malignant and very often merciful to the slave, and Petyr thought that he could live with this, he could endure serving as this man’s private pet whore untill he could figure out how to improve his situation. It certainly helped that Edmure was pure delicious wickedness when it came to the wonderful art of fucking, and always seemed to be able to walk that fine line between what Petyr needed and what he could endure.

And unlike most of the brothel’s clients, his new master always let him come.

Sometimes, when all the fucking was done, and he was lying tired but peacefully in his master’s arms, Petyr even caught himself wanting to believe in the silly idea that Edmure could actually, genuinely care about him.

After his fingers were licked clean, Edmure played with the slave’s soft pink mouth for a while, pushing two fingers in and out against the smooth insides, bulging his cheeks. Petyr took it all in silence, and continued to stare up at his master with his pleading grey green eyes while his head rested against Edmure’s chest.

It was so lovely Edmure contemplated to stay just a little longer, so he could just hold the boy in his arms and calmly stroke him for half an hour of so...but then came a loud knock on the door. It was a signal from Paine to notify his master that it was already getting late in the afternoon. Soon Edmure’s wife would return from her visit to the nearby town.

Inwardly sighing, Edmure reluctantly got out of the sunken bath, leaving Petyr sitting on the hay covered basin floor. “One of these days –“ He told Petyr, keen to keep his mind distracted from his troubled married life. “I am going to train you. I am going to teach you to bend forward far enough to come in your own mouth.” He grabbed his cloak. it was the same one he had let Petyr keep that first night after they had fucked in the bathhouse, and wiped between his legs to clean up the sticky mess.

“I saw that once, in one of the top brothels in Alexandria. I was stationed there with the 10th legion when I was a lad. They had this beautiful Nubian boy, firm body, skin as black as midnight. He was a real artist, could bend himself in all forms and shapes, like some sort of giant python.” There was a smile and a far away look on Edmure’s face as he recalled his early army days, when he was still a carefree youth, stalking the streets of the exotic ancient city together with his dearest mates. “We were so drunk that we offered to pay him a handsome sum if he could bend over and suck himself.”

“And…did he succeed dominus?” Petyr asked while he watched his master dress in his clean white tunic.

“Oh he certainly gave it a dammed good try. He tried the whole fucking evening. Eventually, he managed to just touch the tip of his cock with his lips, giving it a modest kiss.” He recalled, grinning. “It was not exactly what we had in mind, but we all agreed that it was quite a performance. So we paid him half what we promised. He was still deliriously happy though.”

"But...if the Nubian wasn’t even able to do this, then how am I to accomplish this impossible task for you dominus?” Petyr asked, fearing that failure would mean punishment. _I am not even that bloody agile._

“Hey." He gave Petyr a playful nudge under the chin. "Don’t look so worried.” He flung the leather cord for his scabbard over his shoulder. “You will manage. The Nubian wasn’t actually that far off from getting it right. I will tell you the secret -”

Another knock on the door, another reminder from Paine that his wife would soon come home and expect him to greet her in the atrium. Better not to take any risks.

“- but I guess it will have to wait for another time.” Edmure sighed, and was about to leave when Petyr called after him.

“Dominus, before you go, may I please ask you a question?” 

Edmure half turned around. “Yes.”

“I have spend a long time in this bathhouse on my own...I was wondering if I perhaps could-“

“You are dissatisfied with the way I keep you?” There was a begrudging tune in his voice.

“No, no, no dominus, absolutely not.” He quickly reassured him, bowing his head low. “You have taken very good care of me. Far better than a wretch like me really deserves, but back in the brothel, I used to serve my master in many different ways, not only in the bedroom.”

A low chuckle came from Edmure. “Did you now?”

“Yes dominus.” Petyr nodded. “I used to clean and cook for my previous master all the time. I can do these same things for dominus and his family. If you would just allow me to go out and join the other household slaves, I will be able to serve dominus so much better than I do now.”

Petyr was sick of the bathhouse. by now, he knew every mosaic tile and marble lining by heart, and was able to see the damned place in great detail even in his sleep. Back in the brothel, he used to think that hell was other people, but after spending so long locked up in here alone with only the decrepit old mute and his lustful master for company, he was starting to feel depressed and isolated. He would risk a beating for just a chance to get out. For a moment, Petyr indeed thought that he had overplayed his master’s sympathy for him, and when Edmure raised his hand, he was already bracing himself for a corrective slap. But instead, very perplexingly, Edmure started stroking his cheek. His touch was gentle and very affectionate. It gave Petyr a strange tingling sensation in the pit of his stomach.

“It’s not that I don’t want to.” Edmure told him, his eyes full of sincerity. “Your mistress is with child. She is very stressed at the moment. I don’t want to upset her.” His face and voice hardened, and became resolute again. “After she has given birth to my son, I shall consider it.”

A series of knocks on the door, this time sounding far more urgent, was followed by Paine peeking through the doorway.

“Yes? What is it?” Edmure barked. The mute, unable to speak, passed him the wax tablet with the message from the gate slave.

“Catelyn and her daughters are here?” Petyr noted that Edmure suddenly seemed really tensed. Petyr didn’t know who these people were, but judging from the straightening of his back and the tightening of his jaw, his master was not too pleased to receive them.

“Where are they now?” Edmure wanted to know.

That the mute could answer for himself by pointing in the direction of the main gate.

 

3.

"Cat!" Edmure exclaimed. He took his older sister in a warm embrace out in the courtyard while his nieces were helped out of the carriage by their slaves.

“This is a real surprise. I didn’t know that you would show up with the girls.”

“Did you not receive my letter?” Catelyn replied. “I sent it out to you 2 weeks ago!”

He hadn’t heard a damned thing from her ever since Selyse nagged him into inviting them over. “No. Nothing.” He tried hard not to sound too annoyed about it.

“It could be the weather. In this stifling heat, only the Gods know what happen to the imperial post carriers who have to travel from afar.” _Either their horses dropped dead on the way or those lazy bastards are lying in a puddle of their own vomit outside the taverns._ “But never mind.” He lied with the sort of grimace that had much difficulty to pass for a friendly inviting smile. “You’re here now.”

“It’s not inconvenient for you I hope?” Catelyn asked, knowing her brother well, and easily sensing that something was bothering him. 

“Not at all, I am happy to receive you.” Edmure quickly turned his attention to his nieces to get Catelyn off his back. “Gosh, how much you two have grown! Sansa, you are becoming quite a fetching young lady.”

“Uncle Edmure, it’s good to see you again too.” Sansa replied quietly, feeling creeped out that her uncle was staring at her like some hormonal youth in the streets. Actually, Edmure was just surprised that his niece had grown up to become such a vision of loveliness. He still remembered the ungainly giraffe like creature she used to be when she was a few years younger. Back then, he thought Cat and Ned would have to raise a hell of a dowry to get rid of her. How time had proven him wrong.

“-And Arya” He looked down at the little tomboy. Messy hair, quirked mouth with thin lips, brows constantly stuck into a frown, and large brown eyes that looked at him with a mixture of silent disdain and impatience. He could be wrong again of course, but this one is definitely going to be hard for Cat to wed out, especially since he could not see any improvements since he had last laid eyes on the little rascal. “Last time I saw you, you were still a toddler, hiding behind your mother’s dress.” He muttered, finding it very hard to say anything to compliment his niece. What do you say to little girls to appease them anyway? He never was much involved with his sisters when he was growing up. His father had given him plenty of boy slaves for company, thank the Gods for the old man's common sense.

“Last time I saw you, your wife was having another child.” Arya said sourly.

Edmure tightened his jaw and Cat pressed her lips thinly together and gave her youngest daughter a silent but urgent nudge with her elbow.

“Edmure” Catelyn said, pretending that nothing offensive had been said. “Where is your wife Selyse?”

Edmure snapped out of his sulk. “Oh, she went to the nearby town to pray.”

“Where did she go?”

“Herculaneum. They have a new temple dedicated to the Goddess Isis, built right after the earthquake.”

“I have never heard of her.” Looking at her face, Edmure imaged that her older sister thought his naïve wife was being fooled by charlatans again.

“Oh it’s some foreign mumbo jumbo for sure, blown over from Egypt I heard. But it is a legitimate religion, absolutely ancient. I was assured that it is worth her prayers….I prefer the good old Roman Gods of course.” He added, when he noticed that the frown on Cat’s face only grew more solemn. “ -Selyse swears by it, ever since those Gyppo priests cured the swelling in her feet. She prays to Isis every day now. It’s supposed to be very good for ensuring a safe delivery of our child.”

Cat remained judgmentally silent, worse still, there was pity in her gaze, and his nieces looked horribly bored and irritated already. “But where are my manners.” Edmure said, faking a smile but inwardly groaning. “Let’s get inside so you all can freshen up. I shall have my slaves prepare your quarters for you.”

“Mother?” Sansa asked, the aloof girl was suddenly all honey and sweetness. “Aren’t you going to ask uncle Edmure if I am allowed to get your old bedchamber with the private bathhouse during our stay?”

“Oh yes.” Catelyn turned to her little brother. “If it’s possible, could Sansa get my old quarters? My eldest is so used to having a bathhouse of her own. You know how it is with girls her age. They don’t like to share anything.”

Edmure didn’t know anything about girls who were his niece’s age, but he sure didn’t like to share anything either. The bathhouse in the east wing was where he kept Petyr. It was his own private little paradise away from his very demanding and depressing wife. He wasn’t exactly keen to give that up and hand it over to some irritating needy teenager.

“You don’t really mind do you?” Cat asked him. “You are currently not using the rooms for anything else?”

What his mind wanted him to say was no, that brat could definitely not take it. He wanted to make something up, tell Cat that it was being renovated, or was infested with rats or swarming with woodlice, that it was struck by lightening just a minute before they arrived…anything to keep her out…but instead his mouth blurted out something along the lines of: “It’s fine. It’s fine. Not a problem at all!”

Edmure ground his teeth. He could almost slap himself for his inept stupidity and for being so spineless.

 

4.

“You have to go. You have to go right now!” Edmure told Petyr as he burst back inside the bathhouse.

Petyr was startled, but with the presence of mind to immediately obey his master, he quickly started to collect his meager belongings. He picked up the soiled cloak, which carried Edmure’s scent, and kept him warm and comforted at night. Petyr folded it neatly and was about to go searching for his broken ceramic food bowl, when his master impatiently grabbed him by his arm and started dragging him towards the exit.

“Leave it. There’ s no time.” He sneered.

“Where are we going?” Petyr asked, struggling to keep up.

 “I am moving you. There is a shed behind the stables. You can hide in there.”

“ _Hide_ dominus?” Petyr had long since realized that Edmure wasn’t behaving like any normal, slave owning master. No self-respecting Roman would be so secretive about keeping and using a slave for his own pleasure. This was Rome. Girl slaves were simply there to be fucked and boy slaves were there to be buggered. In the eyes of the general public, it was all perfectly acceptable. There was no shame in all of it, as long as it was the master who did all the buggering, and not the other way around.

But something was going on with Edmure Tully, and it had everything to do with his pregnant wife.

_He is hiding me from her. The question is why?_

But Petyr had very little time to ponder about this right now. His master pulled open the door in a hurry and bright afternoon light flooded in, making the slave squint, but before his eyes could adjust to the late afternoon sun, Edmure was half shutting the door again, acting in a panic as he tried to hide his pet slave from view. Petyr could pickup voices. There were people nearby and they were standing right outside. 

“Hey! Who said you could come in here? What are you doing?” Petyr noted that his master was almost vibrating with badly concealed annoyance.

“I am bringing my lady’s stuff dominus.” Came the calm reply from a young woman, a dark brunette dressed in a simple pink gown. She was spindly and thin, but surprisingly strong when she moved her lady’s travel trunk, which was the size of a baby elephant, closer to the entrance of the guest room on her own. “My domina ordered me to get her quarters ready. We are unpacking the crates and bringing her furniture here so we can make it to her liking.”

“How infuriatingly efficient of you.” Edmure groaned, irritated and clearly in despair as he slammed the door shut again.

“So…” Petyr muttered, a little lost, and quirked his lips. “I guess I am not going anywhere?”

There was no way Edmure could bring Petyr to the shed unnoticed with so many of his sister’s household slaves standing right outside. He racked his fingers through his hair and tried hard to make up another plan. Petyr could easily see from the pained expression on his master’s face that he wasn’t much used to thinking on his feet and that it wasn’t a particularly smooth process.

“Wait!” Edmure finally exclaimed. “There is an extra room in here. Somewhere behind these closets.” He rushed to the back of the bathhouse where there indeed was a pair of wooden-lice infested, ancient looking cupboards lining the wall. He started to move them aside. “Don’t just stand there! Give me a hand!”

Petyr obeyed, and although his bulky master still provided most of the brine, together they were quickly able to move them both to one corner.

“There it is!”Edmure told his pet when the small entrance was revealed. “I thought it remembered it correctly. Now get in!”

“That’s…not a room dominus.” Petyr muttered. He was right. It was just a hole cut-out in the wall, the space inside was hardly larger than a crate. It looked dark, and smelled of damp earth. If it was horizontal instead of vertical, one would mistake it for a grave.

“Are you going to push the furniture back in front dominus?” Petyr asked, suppressing a shudder.

“Of course I am you idiot! How am I supposed to keep you out of sight if I didn’t!” Edmure snapped back.

Petyr didn’t know where he found the courage to do so, but slowly, he shook his head. “Please dominus, I don’t want to go in there.” He pleaded. There was something else that he could smell, just underneath the scent of damp packed dirt, a hint of old wood smoke. He wondered where it came from. Maybe this was part of an old disused chimney that they had tried to block up. The walls were indeed covered under some sort of black soot. What ever it was, this was not a place that anyone wanted to be locked up in.

“You disobey me?”

“Please dominus, I -” Petyr abruptly stopped talking when Edmure slapped him so hard in his face that he lost his balance and sagged against wall.

“Get in there!” He ordered.

His cheek throbbed and he could taste blood in his mouth. With the little courage he had punched right out of him, Petyr meekly climbed through the small opening and sat on the dusty pile of rubble, his back pressed tight against the bare brick wall and his knees pulled up and touching his chin to be able to fit himself inside. He gazed up at Edmure with large frightened eyes. Edmure noted that Petyr’s lower lip had a nasty cut from one of his rings and was bleeding.

“I will find someplace better to hide you.” Edmure's voice was softening again. He wished that the boy would stop looking at him like that. “It’s just for a little while. I promise.” He added, hoping that it would reassure him, before he pushed the cupboard back in place.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was getting a little long so I split it in two. Part II is almost finished and will be up soon. After that you probably will have to wait for a while again, but I am doing my best...you can keep an eye on any updates of my fics via my Tumblr account. For now, once again many thanks for reading!


	6. Bathhouse part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know what’s going on in my head but this fic is starting to look like a marathon porn fest...for those who start to wonder if there’s a plot...there used to be before my brain melted and was replaced by a pineapple...I am sure it’s still somewhere and that I will be able to find it, please have patience. In the meantime, here’s another one of those “festive” chapters..

 

Suggested Music:

[Strange birds](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tx1FL24UGfE)

Follow me on [Tumblr](https://florineandthebluebird.tumblr.com) for updates on this fic.

5.

_It’s...it's going to be fine._

_It’s just for a short while._

_Dominus is going to get me out of here soon. He promised he will come back for me._

Petyr just kept reminding himself this as the cold started to settle in his bones. It felt like hours had went by, but he really had no idea how long it had been. Hidden away by his master in the hole behind the cupboard, he could pick up very little from the everyday sounds that would normall give him clues. Luckily, he was not stuck in complete darkness. The wood in the back of the cupboard was cracked on several places. If he craned his neck and shifted to one side, he could peek through a tiny hole to look outside, right through the gap in between the closet doors.

Petyr tried to lift his weight from his buttocks. They had become very sore from sitting on the rubble, but there was barely enough space to straighten his back, let alone to sit up propper. All he could manage was to hover a few inches above the floor in a forced hunched down position. It was very uncomfortable, and he couldn’t keep it up for long.

His heart sank when he considered the very realistic possibility that he might have to spend longer than a day in this horrible claustrophobic place.

He was hopeful when he heard the door in the bathhouse open again, expecting it to be Edmure. But peeking through the crack, he saw that it wasn’t his master, but the dark haired slave girl who he had seen earlier. She was accompanied by two other slaves.

“What the heck is this?!” Shae picked up a handful of clammy straw from the bottom of the basin. “I thought my lady was assigned a room with a private bathhouse, this looks more like a dirty stable.” She got rid of it and gestured at the two other slaves. “Get this cleaned up immediately! It has to be cleared out and scrubbed clean. Domina is certainly not going to be happy with this pigsty!”

She walked away to inspect the rest of the chamber while the men got down into the tub and started taking out the hay. Petyr saw her looking up at the ceiling to point out the cobwebs and spiders that were hiding in each corner. “Make sure to get rid of these vermin. You know how our domina hates them. She is going to freak out when she sees how infested this place is.”

This went on for a while. Under her supervision, the bathhouse was immaculately cleaned from top to bottom. By the time they left, the place was spotless. Even the glass high up in the circular roof window was cleared from its ancient looking muck. Petyr could not remember that the bathhouse had ever looked so brightly lit during the late afternoon.

The girl returned with another slave girl who looked slightly older than her. She still seemed to be in charge though, and soon she was bossing her around, telling her to fill the basin with hot water from the kitchen, while she stayed behind. As bucket after bucket was emptied out into the sunken tub, and the hot bath filled the air with steam and made the tiles in the bathhouse fog up, Shae brought in vases filled with flowers, picked freshly from the gardens, and placed them strategically around to hide any blemishes in the floor or walls. She hung up gilded poles with long silk curtains to shield off the basin from direct view from the entrance to provide her mistress privacy. She carried in furniture, a chair with soft velvet cushions and a beautifully carved vanity table, both light in weight and crafted especially for travel, and set them up in a corner close to Petyr, so her lady would have a place to ger her hair and makeup done. She even brought in a gilded cage with an exotic looking bird with long white tail feathers and cobalt blue eyes and beak, so that her domina could listen to her favorite pet’s songs while she bathed.

Finally, when everything was to her satisfaction, Shae lit a legion of candles and scattered handfuls of rose petals into the basin, that was already sweetly scented with a whole bottle of perfume. Petyr breathed in deeply and recognized the refreshing smell of lemons. He had not seen or tasted one since he was eight.  

“This will do.” Shae muttered to herself. With a content smile she went to inform her lady that her bath was ready.

Petyr’s heart skipped a beat when he finally heard the voice of the girl's mistress as she made her way to the bathhouse. He tried to moved closer to the peephole to get a better look at the domina’s face, believing that he must have recognized it wrong.

But he hadn't. This really was the young noble woman, the same girl with whom he had spent that most memorable night at the house of the Roses! The one who had offered him peaches and who had been so incredibly kind to him.

In the late afternoon light that now flooded the steaming bathhouse, she was even more breathtakingly beautiful than he remembered her to be.

“What? Is this it?!” Sansa commented when she stepped inside.

“That’s exactly what I said when I saw this.” Shae sighed, knowing what her domina had expected and how much reality had disappointed her…as always. “You should have seen the place before I cleaned it up for you. I was a complete mess.”

“It’s so old…and it’s tiny.”

“It’s much smaller than your bathhouse at home. I agree with you domina, but I am afraid this is what your kind uncle can only offer you for the time being.”

“Ugh. I was so looking forward to take a long nice soak. Now I don’t even want to bother with it anymore.”

Although she had learned to hide it perfectly well over the years, the handmaiden was inwardly suppressing a groan. “Are you sure domina?” She smiled her typical polite smile that hid a thousand insults. “It’s been a very long journey all the way from the city. It was certainly very dusty and tiring. Don’t you want to wash your hair? I made sure that the water is nice and warm, just the way you like it. I even scented it with your favorite perfume.”

It all sounded too alluring. “Fine.” Sansa replied, rolling her eyes and sighing as if it was such a sacrifice to give in. “I will take a bath.” She stepped behind the curtains and came in full view of Petyr. “Shut the door and help me undress.”

Soon her light dress fell in a puddle of silk on the floor and she was standing there, fully naked in front of him.

Petyr didn’t know where to look. Not that he was shy or sensing that it would be improper to gawk at her, he just didn’t know where to look fast enough to take in every bit of loveliness that was now offered to him on a silver plate. Her breasts, he remembered them well, bulging underneath her flimsy nightdress that night when she was spread out before him like a willing nymph on the feather bed, but now he could admire them in their full glory. Firm and round and perfect they were, like ripe soft peaches on a tree. The short patch of curly red between her thighs exposed just the pink tips of her labia, like pearls sunken in a lush velvet field of red sea grass.

 _I kissed her there._ He thought longingly, his cheeks glowing. _I pushed my tongue between her folds and licked up her juices when she came in my mouth._

Despite the uncomfortable cramped conditions he was confined in, Petyr felt his cock flush hot with blood. Alarmed that he was getting a hard-on, and uncertain what he should do about it, he tried to fold his legs together and pushed his cock and testicles back, thinking out of reach, out of mind...but that was a mistake. Rubbing over his genitals was a mistake. It only made poor Petyr more aroused.

Sansa sank into the basin, letting out a long sigh of pleasure as she relaxed her body in the hot water. It had indeed been a long, very stressful day, and it was wonderful to be able to unwind in this relative luxery. She bundled her long red locks, twisting it as she tossed it over her left shoulder, before she craned her head to one side and started massaging the base of her neck. It wasn’t long before Shae took over from her, slowly rubbing the tiredness from her muscles with her soft well skilled hands.

“And...am I right?" Shae asked almost smugly. "It’s a good idea to take a bath before supper. Even if the surroundings are not entirely to my lady’s liking.” She started rubbing scented oil on her mistress's shoulders and back to moisterize her skin. She will scrape it off with the dirt later, using a strigil that already lay ready on a stool next to her.

“Hmmm.” Sansa purred, getting in a better mood already. She shut her eyes and sank deeper into the water, till her nipples were just covered by the floating rose peddles. “It’s still a bit cold though.”

“The furnace was not lit. I told them to fire it up again, so it should be getting warmer soon. Apparently -" She adding, thinking that it was a good moment for some local gossip. "-your aunt wants to keep heating to a minimum. She thinks bathing in a hot room is decadent. Your uncle’s slaves even told me that she is used to washing herself in unheated water, even in the winter.”

“My aunt Selyse thinks that almost everything is decadent.” Sansa laughed. “She is so old-fashioned and strict. My mum told me she once demanded from my poor uncle that they sleep on the floor instead of a feather bed, because she was convinced that it was better for her health and builds good character, what ever that means. She is absolutely mad.” She lifted her long leg from the water so Shae could give it a good shrub.

Petyr could not take his eyes off her. The way the copper strands brushed over her pale porcelain skin made his heart flutter. Every movement from Sansa that revealed more of her wet gleaming body completely bewitched him. He grabbed hold of his now rock hard cock and started playing with himself, stroking it while he watched the handmaiden rub scented oil all over Sansa's breasts.

He remembered how she had kissed him that night, and how real that kiss had felt. How her kind, cobalt blue eyes had looked at him and had _seen_ him. Not as a slave, not as someone's property, not as a thing or an animal to be owned and used and degraded, but as another human being, someone worthy of her kindness and love.

How wonderful it would be, he thought, if she would be able to do that again. If she could just look him in the eyes…and see him.

He imagined her standing in front of him in the bathhouse. He was out of his hiding place and down on his knees. She just came out of her bath, her body still steaming and wet, with puddles of scented water at her feet. She was like Venus, birthed out of the salty foam of the sea.

“Do you desire me?” She asked.

Petyr could do little else but nod.

A smile curled her moist ruby lips. “And you believe that you can have me?”

“Why would you even think that?” It was Edmure, appearing by the naked beauty's side. “You're pathetic. A whore, straight from the gutter. Why would a goddess like her want a useless thing like you?”

Petyr didn’t know what to say to that. He knew that his master was right. He was nothing compared to her. He was not worthy of her, because he was nothing in this world. They had reduced him to nothing.

But still, he wanted her.

Venus must have cursed him. May the other gods have mercy on his soul.

“Maybe you should just let her watch.” Edmure sniggered. “Let her see how I fuck you. That's the best you could hope for, and you would like that, wouldn’t you? My greedy little boy.” His master’s hands reached out and grabbed his buttocks. Petyr sucked in a ragged breath when Edmure positioned his cock, now rod-like and slick, right in front of his hole. He felt his cheeks flush crimson. Through his sweaty strings of hair, he peered up at the girl who he worshipped. She was as naked as he was, but unlike Petyr, her posture radiated confidence and control as she rested her hands on her hips, and looked down at him through long lashes and her red curtain of hair. A bemused smile played on her lips.

Edmure pushed in hard and began to fuck the slave, just like he had done so many times before since he had brought him home to serve him. Although initially painful, there was no denying that Petyr was enjoying it. If his experiences had not turned him a bit twisted in his tastes already, it had at least made him capable of finding pleasure in what he constantly had to go through.

Hidden away from view, Petyr was wanking himself off while his other hand reached behind his testicles. He penetrated himself with two, three fingers, pushing in and out to mimic his master’s deliciously familiar natural rhythm. His hole started to clench greedily as he continued to fantasize about being taken by Edmure while Sansa silently watched on.

The shame he felt when he imagined her tilting up his head to make him look up at her while he was fucked raw from behind, made his cock twitch pathetically as it started to run copious with pre-cum. But he didn’t come, not yet.

His domina yanked on the chains of his choke collar, and led him to the groin of a tall dark-skinned man. It was the Nubian from his master’s exotic tales. The Moor from Alexandria who could twist his body like a python. His cock was huge and long, an erect black branch with a fat head, already dripping with anticipation as it waited to be serviced by the slave. Sansa guided Petyr’s mouth towards it, pressing the wet tip against his lips to encourage him. He opened up and took in the Nubian’s cock, swallowing it whole like a good little whore, knowing exactly what was expected from him. For Petyr, sucking off complete strangers had almost become an instinct, like second nature to a starving dog who would drool in the first sight of food when it was offered. And just like with the buggering, under the right circumstances, he could actually be really turned on by it.

“Do you like that? Do you like the salty taste, the way the hot rigid flesh pushes inside your mouth?” His domina asked, while she petted over his sweaty curls.

He nodded eagerly, trying his best to take it all in without gagging as the African started to pick up pace, fucking his mouth with one hand on Petyr’s back, and the other holding his head in position by grabbing onto his hair, while he forced his lid to slide deeper and deeper down Petyr's throat.

 _You see that hole in your face? That’s not for food. It’s a cum dump, that’s what it is._ He heard Trant sneer at him. He had flogged him bloody for some tiny transgression he could not even remember, and had pushed him down on his knees while he lifted up his tunic. _“Stop sniffling you little rat! Do this often enough, and you’re gonna learn to love it. Like all the others have.”_

He did love it now, and he wondered if he wasn’t fully mad to wish to debase himself so much in his own sexual fantasies, while reality provided him with more than enough suffering. With his lips firmly fixed around the Nubian’s throbbing shaft, he glanced up at his domina to make sure that she was still happy with what he was doing. She was, and the seductive smile she returned to him made him forget about everything else as he continued to take in the engorged organ in jerky motions, while his own pleasure rose and rose with each humiliating slurp. Petyr became even more flustered when his domina’s hand slipped down to press between his legs, and then gently began to squeeze into his cock. He whimpered, making gargling noises as the Nubian simultaneously came at that exact same moment, filling his mouth with so much cum that it trickled down from the corners of his mouth. He had much trouble breathing, let alone swallowing. His whole body now throbbed of arousal, and his skin was flushed pink beneath the layer of soots that clung on to his sweat. Then his master's cock spasmed inside him, signaling that he was about to climax. Petyr pushed his fingers further pass his rim while he recalled the wicked sensation of Edmure filling him up completely with his warm flesh and seed, how his master’s cum would run out of his overflowing hole and down the insides of his thighs. Soon, his whole body began to shake violently with the impending orgasm. His hands – his mistress hands, pulled two-three more times, long and firm and slow, like she was a maid milking a mindless farm animal.

Petyr came, gasping, shuddering uncontrollably, as spurts of cum squirted out, and spattered against the floor between his dirty feet.

The air that he sucked in was uncomfortably hot and dry. The scent of woodsmoke had become so strong, that he could now actually taste the ash on his tongue. Another gulp of air. This one stung his lungs and made him retch and cough violently.

Petyr's hiding place was quickly filling up with smoke. 

He didn’t know, but Edmure's household slaves had fired up the furnace to heat up the room on Shae’s request. Warm air, rising up quickly from the now roaring wood fire, was funneled through the villa through a network of shaft-like structures that were build into the walls...and Petyr’s current hiding place was one of the broken main shafts that led the burning hot, smoke-blackened air directly from the furnace into the bathhouse.

Soon he couldn’t stop coughing, the air was now so thick with smoke that it stung his eyes to tears. It burnt in his lungs. He couldn’t breath. If he stayed in his hiding place any longer, he would suffocate. Remembering that the back of the cupboard that obstructed his way out was made of old rotten wood, Petyr tried desperately to kick it apart. To his great relief, the wood cracked and splintered easily, and suddenly there was a gap that was large enough for him to go through. Gasping for the fresh air that now flowed in freely, he crawled out on his hands and knees, and landed with his back on the tiles, coughing and retching up black slime that threatened to drown his lungs. 

It took a while before he had enough oxygen flowing back into his head to make him fully aware that there were two women screaming at him from the other side of the basin. 

“Who the hell are you!?” Shae pointed a short dagger in his direction while she shielded off her mistress. Sanda was still half submerged in the water but was now clutching a wet towel in front of her breasts. She looked absolutely horrified.

“What are you doing here!? Get out! Get out!” Her handmaiden shouted. Unlike her lady, she seemed dangerously vicious and not at all afraid. Petyr, who now definitely knew that he was in serious trouble, clumsily scrambled up from the floor and fled out of the bathhouse, just when Shae started calling out for help.

 

6.

He ran through the columnade and out into the garden. His lungs still stung from the ash and smoke that he had inhaled. His heart rattled madly inside his chest, was struck with blind fear and panic. He had disobeyed his master. He had been caught hiding in the bathhouse and had humiliated and dishonored a young noble woman by seeing her fully in the nude. If they caught him, the lightest punishment he could expect was that he would be flogged to an inch of his life. But that was if he was lucky. Petyr was too scared of what else they would do to him to even further consider it. Running away seemed now to be the only option left, although he knew that it would only make his crimes seem more severe. He desperately searched for a way out of the walled garden, but became easily lost, and ended up hiding behind the thick grey trunk of an old olive tree when he heard a group of shouting men approach.

 _Please Athena._ He begged as he hudled down and made himself smaller between the twisted roots. _Please don’t let them find me, please be merciful. please please please._

But his pleads remained unheard. He saw the group of men turn their heads in his direction. Petyr was about to make another run for it when a blade slipped under his chin.

“Halt! Who are you? Why are you hiding here?!”

Petyr sucked in a ragged breath, and hardly dared to glance up at the shadow who loomed over him.

 

7.

His father’s great town house that had been his family’s proud ancestral home for centuries was being consumed by flames, right in front of the boy's eyes.

”No! Petyr don’t!" The woman pleaded. "Run away! Please! Run away while you still can!”

He couldn’t. He couldn’t listen to his mother, who was kneeling on the ground, her silk dress ripped and soiled with mud after the soldiers had dragged her out of the house. His 6 year old sister had been wailing when she was torn away from his mother's arms. She was silent now. Petyr had watched from his own hiding place behind the old peach tree how one of the soldiers had picked her up by her leg like some wooden doll, and had slammed her against the wall.

Where her little head had hit the stones was now a dark patch of crimson. When he came closer, Petyr thought that he could see her fingers twitch. Except for that, she was lying perfectly still. Unable to accept anything else, he tried to convinced himself that she was just asleep.

He was so afraid of wat these men could do to him, but he couldn’t run, he could not abandon his mother and his little sister like this.

His father’s sword lay in a bloody pool on the ground. With hands that could not stop trembling, he picked it up.

”what are you doing you little shit?!” The soldiers laughed. “You want to pick a fight with us?”

He raised the sword and pointed it at the man who held a knife at his mother’s throat. “Let her go!” He demanded while he fought back his tears.

The man glared at him. “Do you even know how to swing that thing?” He was handsome and tall, and seemed less savage than the others, although his piercing grey eyes reminded Petyr of the wild Northern beasts that he had seen kept in cages in the dungeons underneath the Colloseum. “Do you even know how to kill a man, little boy?”

”I know well enough. My father tought me.” Petyr said, but he was lying. Senator Bealish had never put a sword in his son’s hand. Instead, he had always told Petyr that only the weak would try to settle an argument with a fight. The Roman Empire was conquered by savages who thrived on bloodthirst and murder, but was fortunately ruled by men who valued wisdom and morality. Petyr had never doubted his father’s teachings, until today.

Today, these savages had come to destroy everything that Petyr loved and held dear, all in the name of the tyrant who his father had revered as the emperor of Rome and had served loyally and counseled selflessly for so many years. Petyr could not let them win. In his father’s lessons, the brave and the kind always won from the evil men who oppressed those who were innocent and virtuous and just. Petyr knew that his father was innocent. With the gods’ help, good will prevail. He would fight off these men and save his family. 

But his father’s sword weighted heavy in his hands.

His mother screamed when the grey-eyed man, so much older and stronger than Petyr, and seasoned by countless battles fought against formidable foreign warriors, wheeled his sword around and slashed into the boy’s arm. It was just a superficial cut, perhaps the man wanted to scare the boy off, but Petyr had never been in a sword fight before. He let out a cry of surprise, and for a moment he was paralyzed. He stared at the open wound that looked like a red mouth of a giant spitting out blood. Suddenly confronted by is own mortality, he was morbidly fascinated, as much as he was terrified. 

The soldiers laughed and pulled away his crying mother as she tried to run to her child, slapping her face to shut her up and dragging her back through the dirt by her hair. 

“Yield boy! You’re not cut out for this.” The man shouted, acting like he was taking pity on the child while Petyr saw him badly hide a taunting grin. “Spare yourself the pain and your poor mother some grief. She has enough reasons already to shed endless tears. Don’t make her watch while I carve you up like a roast goose!” 

Petyr ignored the mocking laughter from the other soldiers, and tried to forget about the sticky wetness soaking through his sleeve, and the sharp pain that came from moving his arm as the fresh wound tore open. Letting out a harsh cry, he charged at the man with his father’s sword raised high above his shoulders. He was about the hack into his opponent’s chest when the man cut into him first, slicing him open from his collar bone down to his navel, as easy and fast like he was gutting a fish. Petyr gasped, the white flash of pain was insufferable, searing. It incapacitated him instantly, bleeding all of his strength away.

His sword was knocked out of his hands with one simple swoop from his attacker.

Petyr fell to the ground.

Blood.

There was so much blood coming out of him.

Petyr whimpered. He tried to lift his head to see the cut, terrified that his guts were spilling out of his belly. He had seen it happen to the gladiators in the arena, but the blade had merely seperated muscle...and yet he was in such agony that he could hardly crawl away when the man came at him again.

“Come on Brandon! Finish the little brat! You toyed with him long enough!” Petyr heard the others shout. The grey-eyed man seemed to hesitate for a moment. Maybe he was contemplating if he had tortured him enough.

“Please...” Petyr’s voice was trembling. It was small, and pathetic. No longer was he the young man who had picked up the courage to defend his family, he was just a child, a boy who had his first taste of death, and was absolutely mortified by it.

“Please...please don’t kill me.” He pleaded.

The man pointed the blood soaked tip of his blade down at his throat. 

 

8.

"Please! Please spare me!" Petyr begged as he shut his eyes and hid away from his attacker in fear.

Arya furrowed her brows, puzzled by his response. "Hey. It's just a wooden blade. It's not really going to hurt you. Calm down."

Petyr peeked over his shoulder. A short young girl in a crimson tunic was standing before him. She was holding a wooden practice sword. Not exactly a deadly malice, but he was too traumatized to be able to make any distictions in that. "Please! Don't let anyone know that I am here!"

"Why?" Arya asked. "What have you done?” But before Petyr could respond, the group of men who had been looking for him had reached the tree. They came over and dragged him out from between the roots before dumping him on the lawn, kicking him in his back and belly to keep him down. "Domina!" They shouted. "We've found him! We've found the intruder!"

Petyr had expected that they were calling for Sansa, but a middle-aged woman turned up. She wore an unadorned linen dress that had the dullest color of grey imaginable, and had a sharp plain face to match. It was hard to believe that she wasn’t a servant but actually the mistress of the house, untill Petyr heard her speak.

“Who are you? Why are you trespassing our lands?!” She grabbed the cane that was offered to her by one of the men and swung it at Petyr. “Speak up! Are you a thief?!”

“No domina!” Petyr just managed to dodge the first hit, before another swing from her stick struck him on his flank. “I am not a thief. I didn’t want to steal anything!” He crawled up on his hands and knees and bowed deep to try to appease her, but she kept hitting him with a vigor that bordered on the fanatic.

“Liar! Liar! Look at you! You look like a dirty beggar from the streets! What did you want to steal from us? Confess! Confess to your crimes!"

As if it wasn’t already horrible and humiliating enough, the handmaiden who had defended Sansa showed up. “That’s him! Here he is!” Shae cried out, bringing with her another group of hostile looking servants. She picked up a fallen olive branch and started lashing down on poor Petyr’s back. “That’s for shaming my mistress, you dirty pervert!”

“What did you say?” The plain woman finally stopped, too baffled by the handmaiden’s sudden appearance to continue. “Who are you?”

Shae immediately halted when she realized that she was spoken to by the lady of the house. “I am Shae domina.” She bowed to her. “I serve your niece as her handmaiden. This creep here has been hiding inside the room where my mistress was bathing. He was trying to molest her.”

The older woman looked absolutely shocked. “Is that true?” She asked Arya.

“Seriously.” Arya muttered, as perplexed as Petyr was. “I have no idea what you two are talking about.”

“Not her domina.” Shae explained. “Your other niece, the lady Sansa. This man sneaked inside the bathhouse. Surely he had intentions to do her harm.”

“What? No no no!” Petyr threw himself at the feet of Edmure wife. “I didn’t domina! I didn’t want to harm her in any way! I was just hiding – I didn't -“

It was like a dark cloud was suddenly cast over the woman's features. "You wanted to attack my niece while she was bathing? Did you see her naked?” Petyr was sure that he saw madness in her eyes when she scrutinized him with a most frightening wide eyed stare. Despite that he was fervently shaking his head, Selyse quickly drew her own conclusions. “A young woman of noble birth gawked at by a fithy street urchin!" She turned to her household slaves. "Take him to the courtyard and gouge out his eyes!" 

Petyr was distraught. He remembered the wretched blind slave who was kept chained up naked in the alleyway nearby the brothel after his master had burnt out both his eyes. He was left half mad, sitting in his own filth all day, while he had to scavenge through the garbage heap for scraps to survive.

He didn’t want to end up like that.

"Hey! That's not fair!" Arya objected. "He said he didn’t want to harm Sansa. At least give him a chance to explain himself."

Her stubborn aunt was about to tell her to not interfere with the business of grown ups when much to Petyr's relief, his master came rushing out of the villa.

"My dear wife! What's the matter?" Edmure said to her in a voice that one would reserve for calming a dangerous and anxious beast. "What's all this commotion?"

“Edmure!" She fell in his arms. "Thank Hera you’re here. This scoundrel sneaked into our home to rape and pillage us.”

”No that’s not true, I was just hiding out in the bathhouse, please dominus, tell her.” Petyr begged. “I was just trying to follow your orders. I am a good slave! I would never do anything to disobey you! Please please mercy! Please have mercy!”

Selyse’s eyes flashed up. “He claims he knows you?”

Edmure remained uncomfortably silent.

”So he’s lying then?” She turned to her slaves again. “Don’t only take his eyes, but also cut out his deceitful tongue!”

Petyr was screaming for his master's mercy when they started to drag him away.

“Wait!” Unable to watch this go on any further, Edmure finally gave in. “I know him. He’s not lying. He didn’t sneak into the bathhouse, I put him there.”

Before his wife’s suspicious mind could turn his reluctant confession into something far more dangerous, he quickly added;”I bought him this morning on the slave market in Napels. He is our new kitchen boy.”

He went on to explain to Selyse that he kept him in the old bathhouse because he needed to be cleaned up first before he was allowed to enter to the kitchen, and that the surprise arrival of his sister’s family had made him completely forget about his newest purchase. 

“But Sansa’s handmaiden said that he saw your niece naked. Even if it was not intended, we cannot leave this unpunished.” Selyse snapped back with an almost religious conviction of what was right.

“My dear wife." Edmure said, trying to fake a smile. "How can you just trust her on her words? Can’t you see that the girl is hysterical and confused? I am not going to damage an expensive, well abled slave who can do good work in the kitchen, just because she’s making things up.”

”I am not hysterical dominus. But if you don’t trust me, you could ask my domina.” Shae said, silently fuming that she's being accused. 

That seemed like an excellent idea to Selyse, and despite her husband’s feeble objections, she ordered Shae to fetch her. Edmure’s heart sank when he saw his niece approach, hurriedly dressed in her pink silk dress by her slave. Her face was even whiter than a sheet of bleached linen, and her brows were stuck in a frown. 

“Don’t be afraid to speak out child.” Selyse encouraged Sansa. “Your uncle and I shall protect your good name. If this wretched boy has seen you, tell us, and we shall punish him according to the laws of our ancestors. We shall do everything to restore your honor.”

“Aunt Selyse.” Sansa muttered, and gazed down at the young man cowering at her feet. It was just a brief glance, no more than a flutter of her timid blue eyes, but it was enough for her to take in his face and to make a decision on his fate.

”It’s very kind of you and my uncle to want to protect me -" She started hesitantly, "-but this man is innocent. He didn’t see any forbidden parts of me that would justify any harsh treatment. Please let him go.”

”But your handmaiden-“ Her aunt tried, still eager to punish the slave. “She was _convinced_ that -“

”My handmaiden is very loyal to me.” Sansa gave Shae a knowing look before the slave could contradict her. “But sometimes, she can be a bit overprotective. You have to imagine, my dear aunt, what a huge fright it was for us to find him huddled away in a corner, but I can assure you that I was still fully dressed when my brave handmaiden protected me and sent him fleeing."

“Uhm, yes domina.” Shae added, after her lady gave her a nudge with her elbow for encouragement. “My lady is right. I must have remembered it wrong. I am very sorry to have caused this confusion.”

Petyr was saved.

Urged by her husband, Selyse reluctantly let the much traumatized boy leave for the slave quarters so he could be scrubbed clean. Before he was led away, Petyr caught Sansa’s eyes. She was secretly glancing at him when her aunt was talking to her uncle, but was quickly avoiding eye contact again as soon as he met her gaze. 

Petyr didn’t care that the moment was only very brief. He had never felt so much gratitude to anyone before. He was now convinced that Sansa must have recognized him.

She must have saved his life for a _reason_. 

 

9.

She found the courage to visit him later that night, sneaking away from the rest of her family when they were still gathered in the dining room. Antonia, her uncle’s aging kitchen slave, pointed out to her where the slave quarters were. She took a oil lamp to find her way in the dark.

Petyr was kept inside one of the cubicles. She parted the raggedy curtains and entered the small windowless space.

Sansa didn’t know that it was possible, but he looked both better and worse since the last time she had seen him. He was far less skinny now, better fed and taken care of, but he also looked more tired and fearful. The grey green eyes that had boldly stared at her that night were now hooded, cast timidly to the floor.

She also couldn’t remember that he was covered in so many horrible looking scars. The longest one ran from his collar bone down over his chest. It particularly caught her eye, and she wondered how she could have missed it before.  

“Domina.” Petyr muttered, shifting from underneath the coarse blanket and getting up from his stone bed when he saw her enter. His face lit up and a small smile was starting to appear on his lips when her eyes caught his.

“You don’t need to get up.” Sansa sat down on the side of the stone bed. She stared down at her hands which she let them rest in her lap. “Do you remember me?” She asked after a brief silence.

“How can I ever forget.” Petyr’s reserved smile became more confident, almost hopeful. 

That was exactly what she was afraid of.

“Thank you for defending me.” Petyr was full of sincerity and gratitude. “You saved my life.”

She shook her head, as if trying to reject the very idea that she had helped him. “I really didn’t want to lie to aunt Selyse, but she would have called the slaves to flog your skin from your back if I didn’t.”

She didn’t want to look, but her eyes still wandered over the curves of his naked back and shoulders. Thin red stripes drew a well-traveled map of past hardship on his skin. Although some coward part of her still regretted that she had intervened, deep down, Sansa knew that she had done the right thing. She wouldn’t have wanted him to suffer more.

“Why are you here?” She asked, casting her eyes down again while fiddling with the silk ends of her sleeves.

He seemed a little taken aback by her question. “Dominus bought me from my former master. He brought me here.”

“He bought you directly from your old brothel master?”

“Yes domina.”

”how long have you been here?”

”I don’t know exactly, but I guess a couple of months...Is something wrong with that domina?”

“So my uncle knows that you’re not a kitchen boy but a brothel slave. He is lying to my aunt.” Sansa muttered.

“Dominus told me that he was hiding me because he doesn’t want to upset his wife.” Petyr was pleasantly surprised by her cleverness, but didn’t want her to get upset and confront her uncle. His position in the Tully’s household was precarious enough as it was. “She is carrying his child. He worries about her.” He explained to justify his master’s actions.

 _That makes sense._ Sansa thought. Maybe uncle Edmure wasn’t so bad after all. At least he cared about his wife. Still, the very idea of Petyr doing those disgusting things what brothel slaves were meant to do with her uncle…Sansa knew she was not supposed to care. It was none of her business really, but somehow it still tied a cold knot in her stomach.

“Does he…use you in the same way the brothel clients use you?”

“That’s what I am for domina.” Petyr gave her shy smile, touched that she seemed to care about his wellbeing so much. “I am fully accustomed to it. Your uncle is the master of the house. He can do with me whatever he wants. It’s his right.” Then a little more timidly, he added; “You also used me domina. Don't you remember that night, in your friend’s house?”

“You must _never_ talk about that!” She stood up, her cobalt eyes flashing.

“I am sorry domina. I didn’t mean to upset you -“

“Listen to me. I am happy that you’re now here and no longer are forced to work as a protitute in that god-awful place where you came from, but I don’t want you to talk. Do you understand?” She warned. “Don’t tell my uncle. Don’t tell my mother. Don’t tell anyone what happened that night. Or I will stop lying for you…And- and I will let them flog you for what you did!”

Petyr didn't exactly know what he had hoped for when she had turned up in his quarters. Nothing realistic for sure. Sansa Stark was a beautiful young girl from a rich noble family, why would such a privileged, most fortunate, almost devine creature like her ever want anything to do with a dirty used-up brothel slave? He was hopelessly naive to believe otherwise. But still, the way she acted...how she responded...it hurt. 

_So she didn’t come here because she wanted to see me. She came because she wants to make sure no-one will ever know she has slept with a lowly slave._

“They will do worse than that to me if they found out.” He said softly. 

“So..." Sansa looked at him coldly. "Do you promise me you will keep it a secret?”

“I swear, on my life domina.” The way she was looking at him now, full of distrust and calculations of how to bend him in a way that served her best, like any of his masters would, was cutting right into his heart. He resented her for it. “There is nothing for me to gain to tell them anything.”

“Good.” This was what she needed to hear from him. This was the message that she wanted him to understand. She turned and was about to leave.

“Don’t worry domina." He added, not able to keep his tongue from slipping into audacious sarcasm. "Your secrets are safe with me. Your good name and reputation shall remain spotless, my lady.”

Sansa halted her steps. It was as if Petyr's words had shaved off another thin layer of the lie, which she recently found increasingly hard to believe in.

It was the lie that her fate and her heart was truly and fully in her own hands.

“Shut up.” She whispered, more to the gnawing little voice in the back of her mind, then to Petyr, before she left the cubicle.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Viserys shows up with his royal entourage and makes everyone hate him except for Sansa...just kidding...actually Selyse likes him too. Poor Petyr ends up bearing the grunt.  
> When? : Ehh, when it’s finished? Sorry, can’t give a date but I do usually post on Fridays, also you might want to keep an eye on my tumblr account for updates. As always, if you have the time, please leave a comment. I would love to find out what you think.


	7. Fish bone part I

 

1.

To keep up the pretence for his wife, Edmure put Petyr to work in the kitchen. He was placed under the supervision of Antonia, the Tully family’s cook. Antonia was a mad-eyed woman with a wild mane of silver curls. Shaped like a particularly short pumpkin, she had the annoying habit to shout rather than talk, and her manners were as crude as her sweaty unwashed appearance implied her to be. She also regularly lost her temper, and Petyr quickly learned to scuttle out of her way whenever she was in one of her foul moods and started chucking pots at any unfortunate bystander’s head. Already on the first day, Antonia saw that Petyr was not the seasoned kitchen help that her master had him claimed to be. In fact, Petyr proved so absolutely clueless in the kitchen that he had trouble distinguishing a saucepan from a griddle, and a bowl of well fermented first class garum from a pail of semi-rotted fish guts that was destined for the garbage heap. The first one he threw out, and the second he tried to use to season her carefully prepared beef stew.    

“No no no, what are you doing you thoughtless buffoon!” Antonia screamed, grabbing Petyr’s ear, and giving it a good twist as she pulled him away from the bubbling pot. “May Vesta box your ears and spank your moronic backside bloody! Have you even ever worked in a kitchen before?!”

Petyr fearfully insisted that he had, although to be fair, even he had to admit that this lie may be too much for anyone to swallow once they saw him trying to dismember and boil a cabbage. He was afraid that she would complain about him to his master or worse, his mistress who didn't seem to be very fond of him much, but the old cook surprised him. Instead of reporting his shortcomings to anyone, Antonia kept her silence. She even took it on herself to teach the young slave something about cooking. Three weeks after he was sent to the kitchen, Antonia may had not been able to transform Petyr into the next golden disciple of Apicius, but at least he could now be trusted to pluck a fowl with still something left to put on a spit at the end of it, or to season the soup without accidentally poisoning the master and his whole family.

Petyr proved to be a fast and diligent student. As time passed he even learned to appreciate the shouty cook’s companionship. Despite her many rough edges, Antonia was the first person he had met who had selflessly taught him something that wasn't with the aim to exploit him. He had even been given a plain tunic to wear, so he would look presentable to the members of the Tully family and their guests. Real clothes. He didn’t even care that the fabric was coarse and made his skin itch horribly. The last time Petyr had been allowed anything to cover his nakedness was when he was sold as a slave to his brothel master. So although the work was hard and the hours long, he was grateful. He much preferred to learn how to satisfy his master’s stomach than to please someone’s cock. At least with his new position, he was allowed to regain some of what was left of his dignity.

Maybe if he did his best, he hoped, his master would let him stay to work in the kitchen.

 

2.

It was still early, not yet noon, when Petyr was accompanying Antonia in the final leg of their visit to the morning market in Herculaneum. These biweekly outings with Antionia to get provisions were the only times when he was allowed to leave the villa. He liked the hustle and the bustle of the place, the sights and the sounds from the whirlwind of human activity, the multitude of goods for sale from the far corners of the vast empire, and the hundred different faces of slaves, freedmen and nobles, manning the stalls and browsing through the colorful merchandise. With so much of humanity around him, it was easy to forget about his own life and to dream about the lives of others. A stately town senator on his way to the forum, his toga held up high by a well groomed slave to prevent it from getting spoiled in the mud. A mother comforting her crying child, a boy with curly black hair and puffy red eyes, who didn’t want to part with the legion of toy soldiers on display in a nearby stall. A wine merchant, praising his goods to the passing public while sipping incessantly from his own merchandize.  

So many different lives.

So many of them, better than his.

“Stop stalling!” Antonia screamed in his ear, and Petyr’s daydreams evaporated like virgin white snow hit by a stream of hot yellow wiz. “It’s already near noon and we still need to visit Maggy the witch! Get your skinny ass moving!”

Petyr did what he was told, but it wasn't easy to follow her. From 6 this morning when they left the house, Petyr had been carrying around three large wicker baskets. During their visit to the marketstalls these baskets had been gradually filled with fruits, root vegetables and sacks of grains and nuts, bottles of olive oil and vinegar, fish and cuts of salted beef and pork, a fresh side of lamb, and even two alive chickens in a wicker cage, till his condition now much resembled that of an overloaded mule, balancing so many heavy loads on his back that he was close to collapsing or tipping over. Antonia on the other hand, was surprisingly fast for a short turnip shaped woman, and was rapidly disappearing in the crowd. In a hurry to catch up, Petyr tried to pick up speed and almost bumped into a little girl, who suddenly ran in front of his feet. She was immediately followed by her mother, who came rushing after her. In her haste, the woman knocked Petyr off balance, and he landed first with his feet, then his face, in a muddy pool.

”Watch where you’re going slave!” The woman shouted begrudgingly at him. She had noticed that Petyr was wearing a slave plaque, and wasn’t even remotely trying to be polite.

Petyr scrambled up and apologized, hurrying himself to pick up the bits and pieces that had rolled out of the baskets while spitting out mud and wiping the liquified horse dung from his face. 

“Look what you have done!” The woman showed him a seam of her dress that now had a few drops of mud on it. “You’ve completely ruined it, you inconsiderate ape! Who is your master? I want to have a word with him. You should be flogged for this!”

“And I am sure that I would thoroughly enjoy being spanked by you my lady.” Petyr replied, not even considering of telling this hysterical woman anything. “But alas, my master has urged me to make haste.” He made a mockery of a bow to her, and smirked before he swirled around and went after Antonia in the direction of the city’s port gate.

The woman was in shock. “That scoundrel!” She huffed with much indignation, but her cheeks were blushing when she turned to her daughter. “Sevilla, what are you doing my child?" She said strictly. "I told you to stay close while I am talking to the butcher. You gave your poor mamma a horrible fright!”

”I am sorry mamma. I just wanted to get closer to see them.” The child replied as she stared up, her gaze aimed at the skyline above the market crowd.

”See what?” She followed her child’s gaze, and saw nothing noticeable.

”There. On the statue of Hera, perched on her shoulder. There is a great white owl sitting right next to a dove. Can you see it mamma? They’re sitting there side by side!”

So there was..how peculiar. “Fine.” The mother muttered. “Now that you have seen the birds, let’s head back to the butcher. Mamma still needs to get lots of things.”

“What are they doing up there?” The girl asked as she was dragged away from the statue behind her mother. “Do you think they are chatting? Are they friends?” 

 “I don’t think a dove and an owl can ever be friends Sevilla.” Her mother sighed, getting tired of her child’s imagination very fast. 

She wasn’t wrong though.

The two birds that were looking down over their heads from Hera’s giant stoney shoulders were certainly not friends. They weren’t real birds either, although in the eyes of the mortals, they had today chosen to appear as these feathered creatures. 

There was no need to show their real forms.

Athena’s vivid green eyes searched the sea of humans who were swarming over the market place like little ants over a nest, and finally found Petyr, struggling up the steps of a steep alleyway in an attempt to keep up with Antonia, who kept marching on far in front. Next to her, Venus’s cobalt blue eyes followed the young slave with similar interest. 

 “My dear.” Anthena said without diverting her gaze. “Would you not tell me why you have such renewed interest in my ward?”

 Venus returned a sweet coy smile. “I am just happy that he is so content. This new life away from the whorehouse certainly seems to do him a world of good.” She gave Athena a side ways glance. “I could ask you the same question really. Hera and I thought that you have given up on the poor boy after he had fallen on hard times.”

”I have not abandoned him. He survived.”

”Yes...barely.” Venus sniggered, hardly able to hide a smug smirk. “Oh it pains my heart to think what the poor soul has been through.”

“Are you always this good at weeping crocodile tears?” Athena scoffed. “You and Hera did this to him. Two mighty goddesses, raining their wrath upon a defenseless child. Truly, you two have done some horrible stuff in the past, but this must be a new low.” 

 “Oh Athena.” Venus murmured, while she shook her pretty head. “Don’t be such a hypocrite. You still have Hera’s gem in your possession in the form of your precious little feathered companion.” She pointed out the little mockingbird that was circling near Hera’s head. It could be that it was still resenting the queen of heaven for wanting to turn it back to stone, for it did its best to burry Hera’s Stoney featured under a white avalanche of bird shit. “You have no right to claim innocence for the boy’s misery.”

“What do you want with him?” Athena said sharply, bored with the chit chat.

Venus lips curled into a smile. “Nothing unnatural. Our little boy has grown to manhood, and any young man desires love. I am just here to offer it to him.”

”And from all the maidens in this world, you picked out Sansa Stark?”

”You offered him Edmure Tully, whose sister Catelyn is wed to Ned Stark, I don’t see how my choice is any worse than yours.” Venus replied, faking innocence.

Athena’s green eyes were flashing, but except for that, she remained calm and did not show her anger. ”You know why he can’t fall in love with Sansa Stark. After all that you have done to him, how can you still be so monstrously cruel.” 

“Oh but he can.” Venus declared, her smile hardening. “You may rule over the battlefields and over the courts of kings Athena, but I rule over the hearts of men. He shall accept her.”

”I cannot let that happen.” Athena replied, knowing that it would destroy him.

”A bet then.” Venus opted, her frosty smile still on her lips. “The young tribune, or the red haired beauty.”

Athena nodded. “A bet, but we both are not allowed to intervene.”

“We shall not.” Venus agreed. “The boy shall choose.”

Athena spat in her hand and offfered it to Venus to seal the deal. Venus looked disgusted but still accepted it and shook her hand. 

“May he choose wisely.” Athena said.

”Or may he let his heart decide.” Venus added.

 

3.

Petyr shook the glass bottle and inspected the string of tiny bells that rose up in the clear liquid from the bottom. It was supposed to be rat poison. They had an infestation of these vile creatures in the kitchen, and he often saw them scuttle near the walls when he was sitting on the floor to have his own meal. The rats were fearless, and huge. They bit him if he tried to keep them away from his food. It was also no use killing them by hand, for every night new ones kept crawling out of the nearby latrines in the back of the kitchen. 

“This does not look like much.” He muttered. It looked like water really. Antonia had just paid a good amount of coin for it, and Petyr thought that the cook might have been seriously swindled.

”What would you know, you ignorant little toad! It’s supposed to look like that!” Antonia shouted, and slapped his fingers so hard that Petyr almost droppped it. “Be careful you dimwit! You don’t want to get it all over yourself! It’s very potent stuff. You want do die on the latrines while you shit your bloodied intestines out?”

That did not sound appealing at all. Petyr shook his head.

"Put it away then!" Antonia responded. "And go wash your hands before you help me in the kitchen! Chop chop, get started, we got loads to do!"

Petyr put the bottle away on a shelf and rushed out into the courtyard to rinse his hands in the nearby fountain. Antonia shoved a basket full of fish in his face when he returned. "Prepare these, and be sure to get rid of all the scales this time. I don't want our mistress to complain again!"

He took the basket outside and sat down on the steps near the fountain. There he rinsed a blunt kitchen knife in the water before using it to gut the first fish, a decent sized mullet that was already starting to smell in the summer heat. He wrinkled his nose a little when his fingers slipped inside and grabbed hold of the soft slippery innards, but It wasn't too bad once he had pulled them out. It was far more difficult to get rid of all the scales in the immaculate way his domina expected from him. Petyr was still trying his best to scrape the belly side clean, when the tip of a wooden blade pricked in the back of his neck.

"Halt!" Arya said as she imitated her aunt’s high pitched voice. "Who are you? And what are you doing on our property? Speak thief! Or shall cane your backside raw!"

"Little domina." Petyr suppressed a sigh. "I am sorry but I really don't have time today."

Arya lowered her practice sword. "No one has time today." She complained. "Everyone is rushing around. Everyone is busy." She sat down next to Petyr. "And all for that stupid Viserys lizard face."

Petyr hid a smile as he gazed back at her, wishing he was in a position to be able to speak so frank. He had learned about Viserys Targaryen's imminent arrival only a few nights ago. Edmure told him when he last came to see him in the shed behind the stables. It was used as pantry for storing olives and grains from the villa's farmlands. Since this years harvest season was still weeks away, the place was empty and hardly ever visited by the household. Ever since he was forced to let him out of the bathhouse, Edmure had been very careful with their late night rendezvous. Under the watchful eyes of his sister's and Selyse's slaves, his visits had grown sporadic, but not less passionate.

To Petyr, they were also not any less tiring.

Edmure had recently discovered a new pleasure in binding Petyr's body in the most creative ways imaginable. He would order Petyr to kneel down naked in front of him before he bound his feet and bend his knees till his foot soles were touching the back of his thighs. After tying several knots to keep him in this uncomfortable position, he would use the rest to bind his wrists on his back, and lasso his neck with a tight noose at the end of the rope to pull his head backwards. Fully immobilized, Edmure would then let his pleasure slave lie down face up, while he parted his restrained legs wide to expose his vulnerable soft balls and semi erect cock. It would then be followed by hours of relentless teasing, gentle brushing with a wet cockerel feather, or sharp short slapping with a thin reed stalk, while Edmure played with his slave's hole, pushing in with two-three well-oiled fingers. by the end of the evening, Petyr would end up a pleading, weeping mess, his tormented sack so full and swollen, and his rigid cock red and aching for release. His dominus would then finally show his slave mercy, and plunge his thick shaft inside Petyr, fucking him brutally as he lay on the floor with last year's spilled grain pricking in his back, knees up and legs parted while helplessly restrained, moaning and gasping like a bitch in heat with a glazed look in his eyes.      

"I don't think you should talk about the master's royal guest like that." He told the little domina. The thought of what Edmure had made him go through sent a tingling sensation down his spine, and quickly he lowered his head to hide his fast reddening face. He had no good will towards Viserys Targaryen though. It was Viserys’s father, the late mad emperor who had accused Petyr’s father of treason and thus had condemned him to this life of suffering and loneliness. In the young slave’s mind, the only good Targaryen was a dead one. But like the exotic well trained birds in his mistress’s aviary, the slaves in the Tully household must stick to singing a more pleasing song. The little domina meanwhile, had far less trouble with expressing her true feelings towards the emperor’s nephew. 

“Have you ever seen him?” She asked Petyr.

”Only on coins.” He murmured, washing the blood and scales off the fish.

”Then you know that I am not kidding. He’s got a face that even an ugly albino mother lizard would have trouble to love.”

”And yet despite of that your sister seems to be completely happy to be his future bride.” Petyr glanced up when Sansa appeared in the courtyard with her handmaiden. She had been visited  by a merchant tailor from nearby Napels and had busied herself the entire morning with selecting new dresses for the reception of her royal fiancé. She had settled for a beautiful blue silk one with an open back, made with cloth so thin that it seemed like she was wearing delicate layers of flower petals. The fine silver needle work that closed the seams gleamed in the afternoon sun, and framed the creamy white skin of her curved spine. Sansa was giggling excitedly  when a light sea-breeze caught her dress and swept back strands of her copper hair. Mesmerized, Petyr could not take his eyes off her. When Sansa glanced over her shoulder and accidentally caught his gaze, her smile froze, then faded. He quickly lowered his eyes.

”Hey.” Arya said, after she had noticed the brief exchange between the two. “You have no time for me, but you do have time to gawk at my sister?”

”I am sorry domina.” Petyr said meekly. “What is it that you wish me to do for you today?” 

Arya responded with a grin. “I want to hear a story. A good one. One of those about a heroic general, fighting off the barbarians at the borders of our realm.”

Those weren’t just stories, but assays on warcraft and strategy that Petyr had learned by heart when he was young in preparation of the bright future in he Roman army he once had as the son of a prominent senator. The last tale he had told Arya was about Ceasar’s campaign in Gaul.

”I could tell you about Ceasar again, but after that I have ran out of stories to tell you...unless-“

”Unless what?”

”If domina could bring me something new from the library.” Petyr boldly suggested. As a kitchen slave he wasn’t even allowed to enter the main house without permission, let alone handle any of the valuable scrolls. But if he was tasked with reading to the little domina, he might be able to catch up with his studies again. Ever since he had seen the vast collection of books in the Tully’s household, he had been yearning to dive right in. His childhood had been filled with learning and knowledge. Being so close to the source and not to be allowed to indulge himself in reading was pure exquisite torture. “I could find the most interesting texts and read it out loud to you if you wish.”

“Wouldn’t that be very boring? Besides I don’t know which titles are good.”

”I will suggest some to you. I promise it won’t be boring, you just need to know where to look.”

Much to Petyr’s joy, Arya agreed to it.

 

4.

The girl who appeared from the royal carriage helped by the Targaryen slaves was stunning, with long blond hair that was almost white and a slim, nymphlike body. She had the most dazzling eyes Sansa had ever seen. She could not quite decide what color they actually were. They had flecks of green, blue and yellow, and gold, and they gleamed like sapphires. Her skin was perfect, white as snow that combined with her fine features, high cheekbones, and soft pink lips made her a true beauty to behold. 

Sansa felt her heart quickly fill with jealousy. Who was this girl who traveled with Viserys? Had her sweet prince already within a month time found himself a new favorite or worse, a new bride to be? Oh she knew she should not have let her mother push her into leaving the city, not while her future happiness was at stake! Even her expensive new dress which she had so painstakingly selected in the hope that it would suit the prince’s taste paled in comparison with the other girl’s outfit, a precious frock studded with a small treasure of pearls and adorned with fine gold embroidery. She was trembling all over and close to weeping when she saw Viserys take the girl’s hand and lead her to greet her uncle and aunt. But then Viserys introduced her to his hosts. 

Daenerys Targaryen, his beloved sister.

His sister...

Such a stupid, overly suspicious, silly little goose she was! She should have realized as soon as she saw the resemblances in their noble features, or noticed the similar complexion of their hair. Her sweet prince had not replaced her with another. 

“My lady.” The young prince took Sansa’s hand and kissed her fingers. “It’s been a while since you have graced me with your presence.”

Indeed, ever since their first disasterous meeting in the public gardens of Livia in early summer, the young couple had not spoken to each other again. Viserys had canceled their second meeting after Sansa had spend the night at the house of the roses, without given her any reasons why. Sansa had dreaded that he might have doubts about their betrothal. Even the letters that the prince had sent in reply to her own had been sparse and concise, with very little signs of affection. But today, it seemed that all of her worries were unfounded. Viserys had only eyes for her.

“My future wife.” Viserys whispered. The gaze that accompanied his flattery made her spine tingle. “You look even more bewitching than before.”

Overjoyed, Sansa bowed to her lord.

 

5.

Although she had dreaded dinner with the royals and her family, the evening could not have started any better. Viserys was very polite to her mother, and charming and gentle to Sansa. He took the couchbed next to her and although he occasionally engaged in polite chit chat with her uncle and aunt, as was dictated by social protocol, most of the time he was fully dedicated to her. He even asked her about her poetry. Did she still compose new pieces to celebrate the changes in the seasons? Had she recently read anything interesting from any one of the prominent writers that especially moved her heart and would she like to share it with him? When she talked, instead of being visibly struck with boredom like he was the last time, the prince now paid full attention, and seemed to hang on to her every word. He even laughed when she said something witty, and now and then even gently touched her hand. When the first course was brought out of the kitchen by the slaves, he even playfully fed her small nibbles, acting like a loving husband doting on his beloved spouse. Sansa was absolutely over the moon. This was what she had dreamed of ever since she knew that she was to be wed to the royal prince. Viserys was noble, charming and graceful and seemed oh so very gentle and loving. He acted so very different from the man she had met in the gardens that it was difficult to believe that they were even the same. _Maybe he had a very bad day. I should not judge my sweet prince based on our first meeting. First impressions are often so very misleading._

For a while the evening proceeded without any calamities. No one in her family did anything to embarrass her. Even Arya was behaving herself, and sat sulking in a corner far away from the main table. As a minor, she was not allowed to recline on the couch beds with the adults when there was an official dinner with guests, so she had been offered a chair.  _Good, let that little savage stay out of my way._

Sansa dared to glance fleetingly at the royal princess, who was engaged in a polite conversation about the local plebs with her aunt. Now that she knew she was no threat, Sansa felt nothing but affection towards Daenerys. _She is so pretty. I wonder if our children shall have that same snow white crown that’s so typical for my bethrothed’s family, or shall they keep my and my mother’s copper locks? Or maybe, they shall carry a sheen of both?_

”Would you like some fish, domina?”

Sansa snapped out of her daydreams. Green-grey eyes were looking at her. That boy again. The one who she had rescued from her aunt. Petyr was his name. _What is he doing here? He belongs in the kitchen..._ Sansa felt a nervous knot tie up in her stomach.

The young slave had such starey eyes.

"He's always looking at me, where ever I am in the house, at any time of day." She had complained Shae only yesterday. "It's creepy."

"Maybe he's in love with you domina." Shae had replied while she brushed Sansa’s hair. Sansa had laughed and told her that he couldn't be. 

_Petyr is not in love with me. What a preposterous idea. I was kind to him because I felt sorry for him, that's all. He's a slave. He should feel no more affection for me as any slave should for his master or mistress, or perhaps only the love and gratitude that a child should feel for his caring parents, but not real love. Not the higher kind of love that happens naturally between a man and woman. Certainly not the carnal kind..._

"Believe me." Shae had said in response. "Men only want one thing from pretty young girls."

Maybe she should have let her aunt chastise him for seeing her in the nude after all.

"What are you doing here?" She blurted out, acting thoroughly annoyed. 

"I - I was tasked to serve the fish at the table." The slave murmured. Kneeling in front of her, he had indeed carved up a whole sea base that was baked in salt, and was offering a good piece of the juicy meat to her for her plate. "Would you -"

"No! No I don't want any! I don't even like fish." That was lie, but she would say anything to keep him at a distance for the rest of the evening. She surely didn't want to be reminded of all the shameful things she had done with this pleasure slave.

"Oh." Finally getting the message, he moved on to serve Viserys and lady Catelyn.

 _My uncle should really teach him better etiquettes. He should have apologized for disturbing me._ She thought begrudgingly. With such poor manners, she truly dreaded what her beloved Viserys would think of her mother's family...But then, there were other matters that were perhaps even more worrisome. 

Sansa had noticed that her uncle often left the dinner table early. On a couple of occasions, she had seen him disappear inside a shed behind the stables when she was out for a late evening stroll with Shae in the gardens. Once, she had seen him reappear again with Petyr. Her uncle had looked quite flustered, his face visible red even in the spare light of the flickering oil lamps, as if he had too much wine. The kitchen slave had trailed behind his master, walking uncomfortably with his head held low. Sansa didn't even want to consider what could have happened between these two. She wondered though, if she was not the only one who had picked up on her uncle's transgressions. She had noticed that lately, her aunt was becoming increasingly critical of the slave, as if she was especially keeping an eye on Petyr.

"A glass...quick!"

Sansa stopped staring at her aunt and glanced sidewards at her fiancé. Viserys was clawing at his throat, his face even paler beyond his natural complexion, and his eyes bulging. He was coughing violently. "Water!" He just managed to bark out between two heavy fits.

"Oh my love!" Sansa wailed, and turned to the room with a panicking, wide eyed stare. "Do something!" She yelled at her family and the slaves. "He's choking! He's choking! Help him!"  

Her uncle rushed over and grabbed the prince from behind. With his hands flat on Viserys's chest, he applied pressure. Still gasping for air, Viserys took in a deep involuntary breath before he made a sound like an old dog barking, when Edmure pressed down a second time.

"Here." Selyse came rushing over with a goblet of wine. Her hand trembled. "Maybe this will help."

"Have you seen his face woman?!" Edmure yelled back at her. "It's turning purple. He won't be able to get anything down his throat!"

The dog sounds altered, changed to a higher pitch when Edmure continued to pump Viserys's chest. Just when his eyes were showing white and his tongue had acquired a very unhealthy shade of dark blue, Edmure's efforts finally paid out. Something shot out of the prince's throat and landed on the floor in front of Sansa.

"Oh my poor love." Sansa immediately came to her love's side after his uncle let go. Viserys sank back into the couch, rasping and retching. She quickly took her own goblet of wine from the table and offered it to him. "Are you all right?"

Viserys took the cup from her hand and drank greedily to clear the slime from his inflamed throat. "Who did this!" He barked, as soon as he had regained his breath, his eyes flashing wildly across the room. "Who prepared the fish?"

The others were stunned to silence. Gone was his calm and polite demeanor, ir was all suddenly replaced by seething rage.   

"My sweet prince." Sansa tried, her heart thudded madly inside her. "You are hurt. You should take some rest."

"I don't want to rest!" Viserys snapped back, and jumped up, pushing her away. "I want to know who is responsible for this! Who cooked the fucking fish?!"

"It's that new kitchen boy." Selyse finally said. She glared at the poor slave like she was wishing him dead. "He's lazy, dirty, and untrained. We should have never included him in our household." She shot another angry glance at her husband. 

Before Petyr could fall on his knees to plead, the slaves from the Targaryen household grabbed and dragged him to the middle of the room. Viserys picked up the offensive piece that had cause him so much trouble and held it in front of the kneeling slave's face.

"What is this?" He asked, his voice still rasping from the injury.

Petyr didn't look at up at him, until one of the slaves slapped him hard and yanked his hair back to force him to look his master in the eyes.

 _Why is he acting so stupidly, why is he being so defiant?!_  Sansa thought worriedly. _Can't he see that he's in the wrong here?_ He should beg Viserys for forgiveness. After tonight, Sansa was convinced that her prince would act nobly and let the slave go with only a minor punishment.  

"I said, what is this?" Viserys repeated.

"It's - it's a fishbone dominus." Petyr replied, his voice soft, and meek.  

"What is it doing in my food?"

"You had fish dominus..." Petyr's voice was so soft that they others could hardly hear him speak, except for the crown prince. "Fish naturally have bones."

That wasn't what Viserys wanted to hear. 

"You impudent little worm." The prince seethed to the cowering slave. "You dirty incompetent little kitchen rat! How dare you!" He turned to his men. "Get him outside and flog him till his skin falls off! Out with him! out!"

 _No you can't do that to him!_ But while Sansa was still hesitating to speak up, her little sister had already come forward. "No, no! Let him go." Arya tried to pull Viserys's slaves off Petyr. "You can't do this! It's not fair. Petyr didn't do it on purpose. He can't help it that you get a dumb fishbone stuck in your throat! You can't blame him for your own clumsiness."

 _Oh no._  Sansa glanced over at Viserys, whose face had gradually shifted towards the red end of the spectrum, but before he could yell out another order to punish her sister too, her mother stepped in.

"Your royal highness." Catelyn said, quickly placing herself between her daughter and the prince's men. "Please forgive the bluntness and ignorance of youth. Arya is not used to the fine etiquettes of the royal court."  

"Then you should teach her better." Viserys sneered. "As her mother, you have that duty my lady."

Sansa watched her mother bow deep to show that she accepted his insult, but despite this, she didn't appear meek nor timid.

"Drag him outside, do your business and bring him back in after we are finished here." Viserys ordered again. "I don't want the bloody sight of him spoiling our dinner."

"Wait." Catelyn intervened. "Your highness, it is also the duty of your noble self to show wisdom and mercy to your people."

"He's a slave, not a human being. He's property, lower even than a dog or cattle."

"And yet he is one of your highness's subjects. He lives and breathes and will die by the grace of the Roman Empire, which by right of birth shall be yours one day."

"You're pleading for him?"

Catelyn nodded and glanced down at Pertyr, who was still on his knees, and despite his accepting, beaten down demeanor, was shivering like a frightened dog. “This boy has done no wrong. He was given the orders to cook the dish, and he has done so accordingly."

"I ordered him to prepare it well and get rid of all the scales!" Selyse interrupted. 

"Yes, and so he did, but not the bones. The dish requires that the fish shall be served whole, which means including the bones." Catelyn turned back to the Viserys. "Please your highness, demonstrate to this poor boy that you shall be a wise and noble ruler. It invalidates all the high honor of your great ancestors to blame a defenseless slave for doing what he is told."

Sansa held her breath, not knowing now what to expect. She was worried sick by the way her mother had addressed the Targaryen prince. She still remembered how Viserys had chastised her mother's handmaiden, only because he thought she was insolent. Although Sansa really didn't want to see the young slave punished, it was not her mother's place to lecture a young man of noble birth in public, let alone the nephew of the emperor and crown prince of the realm. 

But to her great relief, Viserys seemed to listen to her counseling. "Wise words, my lady." And as he said it, a ghost of his former charming self returned. He smiled benevolently at the others. "Indeed, the future emperor should be wise, and punish only those who deserve it, the wretched who defy my wishes, and those traitorous and foolish enough to oppose my will." He gazed down at Petyr. "I'll let you go this time." 

Sansa was so relieved. _He must really love and respect me. Otherwise he wouldn't have listened to my mother._

Petyr was just scrambling back up when Viserys grabbed him by his cheeks. "Listen to me kitchen rat." He told him. "I order you, and you alone, to prepare all of our fish dishes for tomorrow. I wish each of them to be served whole at the table, without a _single_ bone inside."

That was of course a near impossible task, and Sansa's mother was about to object when Viserys held his hand up as if to say enough. "Do you understand me?" He hissed, his fingers were digging into Petyr's flesh. "I don't want to even find a single tiny one in our meal. If I do, I shall consider it a great insult, a clear defiance of my orders, and I shall punish you for it." Letting go of the now terrified slave, Viserys turned around to face the others with a smug grin. "My graceful hosts." He proclaimed. "For tomorrow night I wish to have a grand sea banquet. I believe that mullet and sea bass are excellent at the moment."

 

**Notes:**

**Please let me know if you have enjoyed it, it keeps me writing ;)**

**Some back ground information, for whose who find this kind of stuff interesting:** Roman villas were often farm estates, where the nobility spent their summers to escape the heat in the cities. It was often run as a real farm to provide food and extra income for the household. Like the Roman townhouses, they followed a certain floorplan that seems sometimes a bit strange for those of us who are living in the modern time. Some rooms like the dining room or triclinium (meaning dining table), the central meeting room or atrium, and the bathhouse were meant to be enjoyed by the master's family while being attended to by the house slaves. These were often lavishly furnished and decorated with wall paintings (frescos), mosaic floors, and even painted wooden roof panels. The colors they used were a bit much...The Romans liked vibrant reds, yellow and black splashed on their walls. On the other hand, rooms like the slave quarters, the kitchen, and the furnace (for central heating) were only used by the slaves and were kept very rustic, with bare walls and floors. Furniture used by the slaves themselves were restricted to the bare minimum (in Petyr's case only a stone bed). One exception are the latrines; these are almost always situated near or even in the kitchen and was used by both the master's family and the slaves. The reason why it was so closely arranged was allegedly because the Romans only built one sewage pipe under each house, and it was more convenient for the kitchen slaves to get rid of the waste water via the nearby latrines. Also, in an age without refrigeration, the kitchen often did not smell any better than the sewage did. Although the rich Romans enjoyed the food that came from the kitchen, they did not necessarily want to enjoy the smells too, so both the kitchen and the latrines were often placed at the far back of the house...next to the slave quarters. 

And yes, they did eat a lot of fish. Dining rooms were sometimes decorated with mosaic floors depicting the popular types of fish for eating (see examples above) and in Pompeii, archeologists have actually studied fossilized sewage from the ancient Roman city's inhabitants and found tons of fishbones....

For those who want a visual presentation of a typical Roman townhouse or villa, you can take a 3D virtual tour [**HERE**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gDiqKUzSeZM).

For updates, you could follow me on [Tumblr](https://florineandthebluebird.tumblr.com/post/179145992659/florineandthebluebird-coming-up-26th-of-october), otherwise when I post something new, it's usually on Friday. 

**For the video**

At 0:00 - atrium

At 1:43 - dining room

At 2:06 - the kitchen, with in the back the slave quarters/storage room, and the latrine (in the kitchen). 

 


	8. Fishbone part II

 

 

 **Notes:** I am sorry that my writing has slowed down to the pace of two snails mating. I just want to let you know that I shall finish my fics no matter what, it's just going to take a bit more time. I hope you all had a wonderful christmas and the best wishes for 2019.

 

5.

”No, no no no no no!” Antonia exclaimed as she watched Petyr’s desperate attempts to remove every last fishbone from the gutted sea bass. “You are pinching in Priabus lucky hairy nutsacks if that clumsy botch job you’re doing right now is ever going to work!”

“It could work...it has to.” Petyr muttered, sounding more wishful than really convinced. It had to work, or he knew he would be in a world of trouble. Viserys had ordered him to deliver an elaborate 4 course seafood banquet for tonight’s feast. The crown prince had also forbidden anyone from the Tully household to aid him with the preparations. Petyr had been up since 3 this morning when he rushed on foot to Herculaneum to buy the fish from the earliest boats returning to the harbor. Back in the kitchen, he then had spent the rest of the morning gutting and cleaning all the fish. Now it was already two hours past noon and he had barely started deboning them. Worse still, it took him at least half an hour to do one medium sized mullet, and he still wasn’t sure that he had taken all the bones out. With the odds increasingly stacked against him, Petyr glanced despairingly at the intimidating mountain of baskets filled to the rim with seafood that still needed to be done. It was impossible not feel downhearted. 

“Perhaps...if you could give me a hand?” He asked Antonia, although he knew she had many reasons to refuse. Viserys frequently sent one of his house slaves to the kitchen to check on Petyr. At Antonia’s age, taking a flogging if they found out that she was helping him secretly, could finish her.

As was expected, the cook shook her head. “Over my dead bones! I am not even going to touch these with a three feet stick!”

Petyr could not blame her. Faced with whatever cruelty the crown prince could come up with as a punishment, he would have probably done the same. So he once again ran his fingers through the flank of the mullet to check for any leftover bones. Every time when he thought that everything was removed, he found another needle thin one sticking out. 

After several inspections he became just too agitated to search any further and he put it aside to move on to the next one. When Antonia came over to inspect it, she put her hands on her hips and shook her head even more fervently. 

“Oh no no no! This won’t do. It won’t do at all!”

”Oh come on!” Petyr exclaimed, he didn’t really want to shout at her, but all the built up tension and frustration was finally getting the better of him. “What’s wrong with it now?! Every side has been thoroughly cleaned at least twice! I am sure I plucked out every last one of those cursed bones!”

There was anger in his voice. He hated these Targaryens. He hated Viserys even before he met him, now he was convinced that all of his hatred was fully justified. Just when he believed he was some place safe, just when he thought he could start a new life in his master's household, away from all the misery of the hated brothel, One of these Targaryen bastards had to show up again and cast him back into yet another level of hell. 

“How can it still not be good enough?!” He sighed. 

“He said he wanted them to be served whole.” Antionia reminded Petyr, and picked up the mullet. It resembled more a flattened, disintegrated white triangular piece of anemic chicken breast than anything that would swim in the sea. “Does this still even remotely look like a fish to you?” She pointed out while she inspected the rest. “Where are all the heads?”

”I - I cut them off and threw them out.” Petyr replied worriedly. A most terrifying thought suddenly hit him. “You think...He didn’t mean that he wanted the heads to be kept on and cleaned of bones too, did he?” Petyr could actually perfectly imagine Viserys to demand such a impossible thing, just to torture him some more.

”I don’t know my boy. Antonia sighed, visibly feeling sorry for him. “-but I am sure that even if you succeeded in doing that, that mean vicious bastard would think of something else, right on the spot, to make it look like that you have failed.”

Petyr let out a miserable sigh. In his heart, he knew Antonia was right. There was no way that he could ever fully satisfy these impossible demands. It was a fool’s errand from the very beginning. With all hope abandoning him quickly, Petyr sank through his knees and sat down between the baskets with his arms wrapped over his head, worrying of what the direct descendant of the mad emperor would do to him, now that he soon had the perfect excuse.

“Hey! You’re now giving up already are you?”

Petyr gazed up with a defeated look on his face. “Little domina.” He murmured.

“You can’t give up!” Arya said, noticing how miserable he looked. “You just can’t! Come on Petyr, you can’t let horrible lizard face win!”

”I have to...it’s impossible to get all this done on my own... I am afraid I ran out of ideas domina.” Petyr told her ruefully. Wasn’t it always like this? Bullies like Viserys always won.... ever since that cruel cunt chose the right womb to crawl out from, unlucky wretches like Petyr stood absolutely no chance.

“What about all those stories you told me. All those heroes who are so cunning, and always know how to outsmart their enemies with their clever plans. You know so many of these tales, can’t you use any of their tricks?”

”They are just stories domina -“ Petyr paused. He never thought that he would ever say that out loud to anyone. Arya couldn’t know, but it hurt him to have to admit that his father’s wise lessons about the importance of justice and state craft had proven useless to him. Petyr may have lost everything and find himself at the very bottom of the heap, but in his heart, he wasn’t yet ready to let go of his father’s legacy. Petyr stared at Arya’s hopeful face and silently, he thought things through again.

Perhaps cunning could still triumph over tyranny. 

“Little domina, you said that you would go to your uncle’s library for me.”

Arya noticed that the spark had returned to his eyes. “Do you need something? Can I help?”

”If you could bring me a scroll domina. I need a specific volume, it’s by Marcus Gavius Apicius, called De Re Coquinaria*. Can you bring it to me here in the kitchen without anyone noticing?”

Arya’s worried frown quickly turned into a smile. “If it will help you, consider it done.”

 

6.

The feast was served in the great garden room that looked out over the ponds and the fountains. The family and the royal guests gathered there at dusk, and took their places on the velvet couchbeds as the house slaves began to bring out the first course of dishes that Petyr had spent the entire day to prepare.

“Where is our young cook?” Viserys exclaimed excitedly while the tables were being filled.

“He is in the kitchen.” Edmure replied. He had hoped to keep his pet slave out of sight of the crown prince and out of trouble, but no such luck.

“Fetch him. I want him here in the dining room.”

“But we have no use of him. His service at the table was rather clumsy last night. I don’t want him to cause anymore inconvenience to your highness.”

I said, I want him here.” Viserys insisted in a voice that indicated he didn’t want to be contradicted again. Reluctantly, Edmure sent for Petyr, who came moments later, carrying a large sliver plate of cooked sea bass on a bed of fragrant herbs. Sansa, who had been worried and nervous for the young kitchen slave ever since she set foot in the dining room, dared to glance at him fleetingly. She had expected Petyr to be terrified, but he appeared very calm, and despite his meek demeanour, seemed almost confident with what he presented to the crown prince. _Please please please._ She prayed silently to the gods. Let  _him behave yourself. Don’t let him provoke Viserys again._

“What have you prepared for us, slave?” Viserys asked as he sank back into the cushions. “You may speak.”

“I did what you requested dominus.” Petyr replied, keeping his eyes down. “I cooked all the fish whole.”

“All of them?”

“Yes dominus.”

The table in front of them was filled with a dozen of silver and golden plates full of seafood. There was a shoal of sardines, beautifully laid out as if they were still alive and swimming in the sea, their silver skins, heads and fins all intact. Two mackerels, their oily leathery skin dripping with fat, served on lemons and gleaming back olives. There was even a gigantic eel, curled in on itself like a snake, resting on a bed of greens and so lifelike that it looked like it could wake up and snap at you any time. It was obvious that it had taken a lot of effort and care to prepare these elaborate dishes, but that wasn’t enough to please Viserys.

“Have you taken out the bones as I have ordered you to?”

“Yes dominus.” Petyr still held his head bowed down low to appear submissive, but noticed from the corners of her eyes, that Sansa was looking at him. He also saw Arya, who was sitting right behind her sister at the other end of the dining room. She was frowning and pressing her lips into a thin white line.

“You took out every single one?” Viserys hissed.

“Yes dominus.”

“That’s impossible.” Viserys said dismissively, not the least pleased with how confident and calm Petyr appeared to be when answering his questions. He had expected at least a certain amount of cowering and pleading. “Look at how perfect these sardines still look, you haven’t touch any them. You are a lazy, lying dog!”

“I am not lying dominus. You ordered me to remove all the bones but leave the fish intact. I followed your order to the letter.” Petyr’s lips curled up faintly, and his eyes lifted from the floor to gaze up at the prince only for a split second. It was just enough to make Viserys question the slave’s attitude, but not enough to earn him any punishment. “I just did what I was told.” He added.

Before Viserys could say another word, Sansa’s mother wisely intervened.

“These dishes look absolutely exquisite.” Catelyn commented. “I hope they taste as good as they look?”

“I think so, domina.” Petyr replied politely. “I certainly did my best.”

Cat turned to her brother. “I think it’s time to let the first course to be served.”

Getting the cue, Edmure quickly gave out the orders. As the house slaves removed the skin and carved into the soft white flesh, Viserys was studying their every cut with eagle eyed keenness, but as the fish was carved up, portioned and served to the diners, the slaves encountered no spines, no ribbones, nothing.

They had all disappeared as if by magic.

Viserys was stunned. It was as if the shapes of these sea-creatures were only held together by their skins, and they had never in their lives had any use for bones.

Although it puzzled him greatly, he wasn’t ready to let Petyr get off so easy.

“Hmmm. Nothing...but the proof is still in the eating.” Viserys muttered, and smirked at Petyr before he picked up a bite and shoved it in his mouth. The flesh was deliciously flavourful and succulent, but also slightly strange. The texture was so soft that it seemed to dissolve on his tongue. Still, it had the unmistakable taste of fish…and much to Viserys disappointment, there were no bones.

Viserys picked up another mouthful and chewed it thoroughly, trying to find anything sharp and hard, no matter how tiny, with his tongue. Meanwhile, the rest of the diners were doing the exact opposite. Fearing they might bite into a fishbone and accidentally let Viserys find out, Arya and Edmure hardly chewed before swallowing, while Catelyn and Sansa took the tiniest of mouse-sized nibbles, carefully picking through their plates to prevent accidentally putting something into their mouths that they would need to spit out. Even Viserys’s sister, the crown princess Daenerys, felt sympathy for the poor slave, and was extra careful with her food. Only Selyse seemed to relish in the thought of finding something that would incriminate Petyr. With much eagerness she picked every morsel apart and chewed every bite to pulp in the hope to find leftover bones.

But still none could be found.  Dissatisfied, Viserys asked his host for the second course to be served up. When that too failed to bring up anything, and later on, the third and last course similarly yielded nothing that would warrant an excuse for punishment of the young slave, the others started to relax and enjoy themselves while Viserys silently sulked. The evening could have ended without another nasty incidence, if it wasn’t for Daenerys making the horrible mistake to comment on the how delicious the food was, just when dinner was almost drawing to an end.

“I don’t know how you can say that!” Viserys barked back at his sister. “This meal was mediocre at best. It’s a dog’s dinner, and the cook should be flogged for it!” Boiling over with contempt, he spat out a mouthful on the floor. it landed right in front of his serving table. One of the slaves accidentally stepped on it as he rushed by the clear the tables. As he observed the muck on the floor, Viserys suddenly got an idea.

“You!” He barked at Petyr, who was still in the room, trying hard to be as invisible as possible. “Come here.”

Everyone immediately went quiet. 7 pairs of eyes stared at the kitchenslave.

“What’s the matter your highness?” Edmure asked worryingly. “Have you found a fishbone?”

“If you have not, there is no reason to punish the boy.” Cat reminded Viserys, sensing where this was going.

“No bones my lady, but the food was completely unpalatable. Not even fit for a slave.” Viserys stood up and deliberately stepped on the morsel again, rubbing it deep into the grooves of the mosaic floor. “You made this disgusting meal. You should clean it up.” He told Petyr. When the young slave was about to come over to remove the mess, Viserys shook his head. “Not like this.” He said with a mocking grin. “Get down on your hands and knees.”

The silence grew more tense as Petyr hesitantly obeyed and got down to his fours.

“Crawl to me.”

Unable to stand it any longer, Arya jumped up from her chair. “No! That’s not fair! Petyr did exactly what you told him to do. You have no excuse to punish him like this!”

“I am not going to punish him you stupid little girl. I going to feed him.” Viserys added with a grinning sneer. He turned to the slave. “You must be hungry after such a long day, slaving away in the kitchen for the seven of us. Don’t you want a taste of your own work?” Viserys grabbed a handful from a nearby plate, stuffed it in his mouth and chewed it a few times before he spat it out again right in front of Petyr. He stirred it with the tip of his army boot, mixing it up with the muck that was already on the floor. “Come on then.” He laughed. “Lick it clean like a good dog.”

Horribly humiliated, but unable to disobey him, Petyr crawled towards the disgusting stain. When he was hovering right above it, A fit of nausia hit him and he hesitated, only to have Viserys push him face down into the repulsive mess by stepping on the back of his neck. “Do as you’re told!” Viserys yelled down at him. "Lick it up you filthy lazy kitchen rat!”

Gagging, with tears of shame stinging in his eyes, Petyr was half aware that Arya was shouting at Viserys.

“Stop this! Enough! You can’t treat him like this!” Catelyn finally exclaimed. She stood up, unable to bear witness to this injustice any longer.

“I can do whatever I bloody hell like.” Viserys replied without looking at her.

"With all my respect your highness, this boy is not your slave. He is not yours to torment!”

Sansa held her breath when she saw Viserys turn around to face her mother. The prince’s nostrils flared like that of an angered dragon, and his eyes were flashing.

“My lady.” Viserys’s voice had trouble to stay restrained. “May I remind you, this is _not_ your house. You are _not_ my host. You are a woman for God’s sake! You cannot even think without your husband giving you his consent! You cannot tell me what to do.”

“You’re right." Sansa saw her mother calmly retreat a few steps as she moved in the direct of uncle Edmure. "I cannot tell you what to do, but my brother can. Edmure, tell his highness that it is enough.” 

Selyse also turned her husband. “My lord, you cannot insult the crown prince!”

Edmure hesitated as he cast his gaze down at Petyr who looked up pleadingly at his master.

“This boy is one of your household slaves.” Cathelyn pointed out. “What is being done to him dishonours not only him, but also the Tully name!”

“Your highness –“ Selyse rushed to say. “Please forgive my lord, he doesn’t mean to –“

“Hold your tongue woman!” Edmure said dismissively to his wife. “Your highness.” He continued, as he finally straightened his spine and gathered his courage. “This is most inappropriate. My slave has done nothing wrong.”

“I already explained to your rude little savage of a niece, that I wasn’t punishing him. I just don’t like the way he looks at me.”

“If his presence does not please the prince, then let me send him back to the kitchen where he belongs.”

Viserys narrowed his eyes, and despite Edmure being much more muscular, and almost a good head taller than him, he still tried to intimidate and redicule the tribune. “Is this truly what you want, or is this your softhearted sister, whispering her commands into your ear?” 

Edmure glared back at the crown prince, his voice had turned low and threatening, but still managed to seem polite. “I's my own request. It has nothing to do with Cat. The boy belongs in the kitchen, not here in the dining room where he is making a shameful spectacle of himself.”

For a brief moment it looked like Viserys was not goint to give in, but eventually, under Edmure stern demanding gaze, he relented. He lifted his boot and Petyr immediately stumbled back up and went hiding behind his master.

“I must say tribune, this dinner of yours have left me with a very bitter aftertaste." Viserys told Edmure. He grabbed his goblet of wine from the table and downed it in one go. Petyr was quickly sent away and for the rest of the evening, Visery acted as if he hadn't been offended at all. Of course everyone in the room knew better than that.

 

7.

Later that night, back in the safety of the kitchen when they were having their own supper, Petyr truthfully told a curious Antonia everything that happened...well at least everything, with a few careful omissions of the most humiliating details that he preferred to leave out. Nevertheless, the cook listened breathlessly to his tale.

“So, in the end, he didn’t find a single bone and had no excuse to not let you go?” Antonia clapped in her hands and shrieked with delight. She could hardly believe that Petyr had managed to pull it off. “Oh you clever cunning little weasel, you brilliant fool! You’ve got balls the size of old Neptune’s to dare to trick that tyrant like that!”  

Petyr was brilliant, because he came up with the idea to cook the fish into a soup that was liquid enough to be pushed through a sieve to get rid of all the bones. He had also been very lucky that Arya found the right volume for him in the library that contained a recipe that taught him how to solidify liquids using the gelatine boiled out of pork and calf feet. Without it, he wouldn’t been able to mould the cooked substance back into solid shapes and to finish these with skin, fins and the recovered heads to recreate the sea creatures.

She also called him a fool, because she was rightfully fearful of the consequences of his actions.

“You must be careful my boy." That bastard is now certainly keeping an eye on you. Next time, you might not be so lucky.” She warned as she finished her bowl of stew and put another log on the fire to keep them both warm.

“If Viserys doesn’t request the master to send for me again, I will be more than glad to stay out the way of his highness.” Petyr smirked as he finished his own second bowl. Having been busy all day, he had almost forgotten how hungry he was, not until the alluring smells from Antonia’s stew had reminded him.  

“Just don’t let your smart mouth get you intro trouble again.” Antonia warned. “And don’t be overconfident. The gods hate hubris. You don’t want them to single you out and go pick on you.”

Petyr didn’t say anything, but thought that since half of the gods already seemed to despise him, it hardly would matter much if the other half of the pantheon was affronted by what little pride he had been able to restore to his dented self-esteem. He, a lowly kitchen slave, had bested a Targaryen princeling. Nothing had ever made him more proud of himself, and he only wished he could have done more.

Antonia slowly rose from the floor and put the bowls in the pail with tepid soap water to make a start with the dishes. It was already well past midnight, but there were still the stacks of hundreds of dirty plates and cups left from the feast that required her and Petyr’s attention. They both won’t be seeing their beds in the slave quarters until this all was cleaned up. “Go take the garbage out, will you?” The cook said to Petyr. “It’s starting to stink up the hallways.”

“And we don’t want domina to get a whiff of this. Not with her delicate sensitive nose." Petyr muttered with a faint smirk. _Or she will spend the rest of the night expelling her fine dinner from the wrong end with her fat pregnant belly scraping over the latrines._ The image that came up in his mind was quite satisfying. Petyr might have been horrified by his shame during the whole ordeal, but he had not been blinded. He had seen lady Selyse pick through her plate, searching most enthusiastically for a fishbone. No doubt that nasty woman would have even cheered if Viserys had ever gotten his way. “I will be back soon.”

He carried the two pails full of kitchen waste outside where there was a garbage heap at the back of the stables. It all reeked indeed quite vile, as both were filled to the rim with scales and fishbones that already started to decompose. Petyr emptied them on top of the heap, trying his best to not inhale the putrid stench. In the light of the burning wall torches that lit up the court yard, he could see the black furry bodies of the rats he had thrown out two days ago. Antonia had told him to collect all the rodents that had died from the poison to keep the kitchen tidy, and Petyr had dutifully discarded them every morning. The dead rats proved very popular with the feral cats that roamed the villa’s out buildings, and usually, they disappeared within a day. But lately, they seemed to last longer…Petyr wondered if the felines were no longer interested in their free rodent dinner...or perhaps something else was going on...

Footsteps behind him suddenly caught his attention. Petyr turned around. It was the old mute.

“Ilyn? Is that you?" Petyr asked. "Why are you here? Did you come to fetch me to see the master?"

The old mute slowly shook his head. Then Petyr saw the two men who stood behind him. They were both Selyse’s pet slaves.

Before Petyr could back away, they grabbed him by his arms and started dragging him away from the stables. “What are you doing?” Petyr noticed with growing alarm that he was being taken out of the courtyard. “I am not allowed to leave the slave quarters without a clear order!” He tried. “Please, the master shall be furious if he finds out!”

“Oh shut the fuck up!”

Where you are taking me?”

“To the Targaryen prince, the one you have insulted during dinner.”

Petyr shook his head. “I didn’t –“

“You still deny it? Idiot! You have no idea what great trouble you have caused for the master!”

“That’s why the mistress ordered us to fetch you! She is clever. You’re going to be offered to the crown prince to make amends.”

“No, no.” Petyr tried to fight them off and dug his heels deep into the ground. “This can’t be right. It can’t be! The master would never allow this! Please, listen to me, I know you want to please the domina, but surely you do realize that your loyalty to her does not exempt you from the master’s whip if anything happens without his consent!” Petyr remembered how Edmure had looked at him when he saved him from Viserys’s vile cat and mouse game. He wasn’t entirely bluffing, Petyr really did believe that Edmure would never harm or endanger him in such a way.  

The men halted, and for a moment, Petyr thought that he had managed to convince them, but before he could spend another breath pleading his case, one of them lashed out and stumped him hard in the stomach. Curling up in pain and gasping for breath, Petyr sank through his knees in the mud.  

“The master himself gave his permission.” The man who had hit him told him.

“You think you’re so special.” Mocked the other. “You think you’re protected because you are the master’s favorite? Think again!”

They picked him up again and began to drag him towards the east wing of the villa where the royal guests were staying. Desperate for help, he gazed over his shoulder and saw the vague shrunken figure of Ilyn Payne still lingering in the distance.

“Ilyn please!” Petyr begged. “Please, go see to the master! Ask him to help me!”

“You’re begging for a mute to help you call for the master’s mercy?” One of the men laughed. “How pathetic are you?!”

“Told you we should shut him up!” The second man grabbed a handful of mud and dirty straw from the ground and stuffed it into Petyr’s mouth. “Don’t you dare to spit it out!” He warned. “Or you will be seeing that great Targaryen prince without your rows of pearly whites.”

Fighting his gag reflexes, with sand grinding between his teeth, Petyr somehow managed to keep the disgusting dirt ball in, and he was brought to the guest chambers while heaving and coughing. Viserys had been impatiently waiting for him. The crown prince was already dressed in his night gown, a fine white silk robe adorned with a pattern of green rubies and pearls depicting two flying dragons, fighting in the sky. Viserys took a long look at the unfortunate slave, his perfect lips curled into a grin. After a long night, he was finally satisfied.

“Strip him and get him down on his hands and knees.” He ordered as he paced back and settled into a lush couch.

Petyr fought against his tears when the men started to cut his tunic to ribbons and tore the rags away from him till he was left standing there, naked and helpless, stripped from all that he was. They even removed his ugly metal slave plaque that marked him as a part of the Tully household. “How dare you to ridicule me.” Viserys whispered. “You’re nothing. Lower than a beast in the field.” He draped his arms over the back of the couch and watched as the men kicked and pushed Petyr down on all fours while they mocked and spat on him.

“Why doesn’t he say anything?”  Viserys asked, when he finally noticed how long Petyr had remained silent. 

“He is gagged dominus.” One of men explained. “We pushed mud in his mouth to stop him wailing.”

“So he’s eating dirt?” Viserys laughed, clapping his hands in amusement. “Oh this is getting better and better.” He pushed the tip of his white silk slipper under Petyr’s chin, forcing him to look up.

“Spit it out.” He ordered.

For once, Petyr was glad to obey. Half gagging, he spat out the disgusting muck. He really wanted to aim for the pretty silk slippers, or perhaps even a little higher, at his smug face, but unfortunately, Viserys’s slaves were clever enough to pull the slave away from their master in time.   

“Do you have any idea why you’re here?” Viserys asked. His attempt to defiance irritated him. “You were sent here by your master to apologize to me.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.” Petyr muttered softly under his breath. It was unwise, but his hatred of the Targaryen prince had grown too strong by this horrible injustice. “I don’t deserve any of this. I bested you. You lost.”

“What did you say?”

“I said, I only did what you asked.” Petyr’s voice was now loud enough to hear as he finally dared to speak up. He stared back at the Viserys with resentment and defiance burning in his eyes. “I did nothing wrong. There is no reason in _Hades hell_ why I would apologize to you.”

There was no immediate chance of expression on Viserys’s face. Only his shoulders seemed to stiffen a little. He waved with his hand and a broad-shouldered Germanic brute with long blond braided hear and rugged beard came foreward. “Hit him.” Viserys said as he kept his eyes on Petyr.

“I did what you asked.” Petyr repeated louder as he saw the blond brute come for him, flexing his trunk like arms and popping his knuckles. “You are supposed to be so much better than me! Of better birth and higher virtues! How is this noble? How is this fair?” Although he really wanted to be brave, he still shrank away in fear when the Germanic slave was about to lash out at him. “Why are still punishing me? You got what you wanted!”

“What I wanted, was for you to learn your place, slave.” Viserys replied. “Beat him up good.” He ordered the brute as he lazily slumped back into the cushions to enjoy his little moment of revenge. “Don’t stop. Not until I tell you.”

 

_TBC_

 

 **Notes:** *De Re Coquinaria; on the subject of cooking

 **Next post (Fishbone part III, final part of this chapter):** Sansa is expecting a gift but makes instead a horrible discovery. I post sporadically, please subscribe or follow my [**_tumblr account_**](https://florineandthebluebird.tumblr.com/) to keep track on updates.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	9. Fishbone part III

**Notes:** Picture: Roman slave tag with translation from latin.

 

8.

The moment Daenerys stepped inside, before she laid eyes on what he had done, before even she picked up the sweet sickening scent that lingered there like the foul air that came from animal butcheries, she could already sense that something horrible was taking place in that room.  

“You wish to speak to me Viserys?” She spoke softly. Her purple blue eyes widened as she cast her gaze at him. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw what stood behind him.

“Ah, yes.” Viserys smiled and offered her a hand, which she took reluctantly. “I heard you were going to meet with Sansa Stark this afternoon?”

“You asked me to.” Daenerys’s eyes were still fixed on what was behind her brother. She was too shocked to look anywhere else, despite how sickened she was by the sight. “You said that I should try to become friends with her.”

“Don’t look so worried my sweet sister.” Viserys replied lightheartedly. “I didn’t say you did wrong.”

“I am not worried.” It was amazing how after so many years, her brother could still read her wrong, whereas Daenerys always knew what he was thinking, even his most darkest of thoughts. She always understood him perfectly.

She knew how cruel he could be if his pride had been stepped on.

"I want you to give my bethrothed a gift. Remember to tell her that when I saw this in a market in Rome, that the beauty of the creature reminded me of her." He beckoned, and a slave hurried over, carrying a large dome shaped object hidden underneath a shiny golden cloth. "Make sure to say flattering things. Don't upset her, no matter how boring she is. I don't want that tragic whiny wilting wallflower to complain about us to her dear papa." He paused when he finally noticed that his sister wasn't exactly paying attention. "Hello?! Hello!?" Irritated, he snapped his fingers close to Daenerys's nose. "Anyone there? Anyone?!"  

“Who is that man?”

Viserys turned to follow her mortified gaze. “Oh him?” His lips pulled into a grin. “Don’t you recognize him?”

“The slave from the kitchen.”

“Guessed it right with the first try!” Viserys laughed, as if it was all just a jest. As if there wasn’t a man in his bedchamber, tied with coarse ropes to a wooden cross in front of the fire place.

He was naked and covered in blood. His eyes were black and swollen. There were cuts on his arms and thighs and his skin had been lashed open. Despite of his injuries, the horrible abuse he must had suffered, he was still trying to balance on the tip of his toes. The effort made his legs tremble uncontrollably, so close was he to exhaustion. When Daenerys looked more carefully, she saw the reason why he tried so hard to keep standing up. He was mounted on a wooden spear. The top end was as large in size as a grown man’s fist and disappeared inside his anus. Where the fleshy rim had torn, there was blood, slowly trickling down his thighs. 

 _Why doesn’t he make a sound? He must be in so much pain. Why isn’t he screaming?_ If it had been her who was so mercilessly treated, she knew she would have screamed. 

“You’re not bothered by this, are you?” Viserys’s voice was close to boredom, but warned her not to lecture him nonetheless. "I know, I should have gotten rid of him days ago. He looks utterly disgusting and his wounds stink, but he just refuses to give up. He is surprisingly resilient. I think I may even have found a new use for him." 

“Why are you doing this?” Surely, if her brother still harbored a grudge against the slave, the poor man must had paid his due by now. She was used to her brother treating their own house slaves in the most appalling ways, but this was the work of Hades himself.

“Remember last Saturnalia, when I went to visit Napels with that pompous ass bandit Renly?”

“The emperor’s brother and our uncle?”

“Don’t call him that. You know he is not truly our uncle.” Viserys said condescendingly.

“You said I should call him our uncle.”

“Not when no one is around! Not when it’s not necessary! Besides, we are not really related tot that degenerate! He only has Baratheon blood running through his veins and not a drop of that of a true Targaryen! And he helped murder our dear mother, his own sister!”

Yes he had, and so had the emperor, but Daenerys knew his brother would never dare to speak ill of Robert Baratheon, not while he was still breathing and very much in power. He was far too paranoid and too afraid to lose his highly precarious position in the line of succession.

“What does Renly have anything to do with him?” Daenerys asked, trying to once again work around his brother’s very flawed reasoning.

“Renly and I made a bet. We wanted to see which one of us owned the best slave who could outperform the whores of the most infamous brothels of Napels. My expensive Sardinian slut was able to let 141 men fuck her before she finally gave up the ghost. Renly’s favourite on the other hand, took 152 men up his ass before he bled out. This year, I am not going to lose again.”

“You’re training him." Daenerys muttered, disgusted by the very thought of this. "You want to use him for your bet with Renly. That's very unwise. If the tribune and his wife find out –“

“Oh, they already know about this, you idiot! They sent him to me. As they should, considering how bloody awful they have treated me.”

“And the Starks?”

Alarmed, Viserys pulled his sister closer.

“You are not going to tell her.” He whispered into her ear. “That little wager had cost me 3000 denari.” Viserys fumed. “When I couldn’t pay up fast enough, that rotten semen-swallower ridiculed me. He called me a beggar prince! He never saw me as part of the royal family, and neither does the emperor.” He shook his head in anger as his hold on her tightened.

“You’re hurting me.” She whispered, and felt his fingers dig into her arm like claws, but Viserys simply didn't care.

“You see, that’s exactly why you should try harder to get into favour with that dumb Stark girl. The emperor himself warned me he will chance the line of succession if I don’t marry the darling daughter of his right hand man. We need the Starks. I am so close to becoming the next emperor now. I warn you my sweet sister, do not ruin this for me.”

“I said, you’re hurting me.” Daenerys repeated, and tried to fight him off. "Stop it!"

“Eh eh eh, not when you want it.” Viserys warned, and sank his fingernails deeper into her arm. “Only when I want it.” Just before he broke her skin, he let her go. Daenerys covered up the fresh bruises on her arm and quickly stepped away from him. 

“Go now my sweet sister.” He smiled his charming smile again. “Go entertain that boring ignorant cow. Make sure she likes me.”

 

9.

The smaller and more quiet floral room facing the rose garden was all set up for a cosy afternoon chat. The two young women of noble birth lounged opposite each other on soft velvet daybeds. On the small gilded table placed between them, the slaves had laid out a luxurious spread of honeyed sweets, cakes and fruits.

“Your dress. It is exquisite.” Daenerys remarked in an attempt to strike a conversation.

“Thank you your grace.” Sansa replied, trying hard to remember the court etiquettes. She couldn’t help herself from feeling nervous. After the disastrous dinners of a few nights before, she was keen to give a good impression. Although Viserys had not treated her any differently afterwards, and although she certainly had not given him any cause, she still feared that he was offended and might be angry with her. 

“It’s just an old thing really.” She added, faking modesty. “I had it for ages. It’s nothing compared to yours.”

“Is that your family sigil?” Daenerys gently brushed her fingertips over the patterns on Sansa’s silk sleeve.

Sansa was desperate for Daenerys to like her. Perhaps if she did, she could convince her brother that Sansa was really on his side, as his future wife should be. Secretly, Sansa did resent her mother and uncle for so thoughtlessly offending her sensitive prince. As always, her family had been completely inconsiderate of her feelings and had no idea what so ever of how difficult it would make things for her. Honestly, sometimes she did feel like she was the one who was the bastard child in the family instead of her brother Jon. 

 “It’s my mother’s needle work.” She admitted, slightly embarrassed. “She always insists on adding a personal touch to all of my dresses. Even if they are made by the most capable master craftsmen of the whole empire, she would still want to stick a thread and needle in my clothes and stitch a dire wolf on it. I wish she wouldn’t really.” She complained sulkingly. “It sometimes really does not suit the fabric.”

“I don’t think your mother is wrong about this.” Daenarys folded and lifted her trail to show her the seams. The expensive feather light silk was adorned with a silver thread garland depicting interlocking dragons.

“Oh that’s absolutely gorgeous!” Sansa gasped.

“Viserys ordered it for me. I do not own a single dress without our family sigil. My brother has always reminded me how important it is to remember our house. Even back when we were exiled far way from home, he never wanted me to forget what we are and where we came from.”

“He must care deeply about you.”

“He did.” There was a sad look in the princess’s eyes before she corrected herself. “I mean, he does. When I was little, after we lost our parents and were forced to flee Rome, Viserys was the only one who looked after me. We had so many enemies and no friends left. We only had each other, there was no one else.”

“It must have been very hard for you and Viserys, but things are much better now. Look how well the emperor is treating you both. He even made Viserys his heir.”

Daenarys couldn’t help but think that besides his youth and superficial charm, her brother’s closeness to the throne would be indeed a large part of his appeal. It was the sort of thing that could easily blind a naïve young girl for his more ugly side.

“Lady Sansa, forgive me for asking, but do you love my brother?”

“Of course I do.” Sansa replied in one hurried breath. “I feel nothing but love and respect for my sweet prince. We are to be wedded soon. I shall be his wife.” Why did she ask? Did Daenerys think perhaps that she wasn’t worthy of him? 

“Even after you saw how he treated one of your house slaves?”

Sansa paused. She had not seen Petyr since her uncle sent him back to the kitchen. She had not thought of him till this very morning, when Arya very rudely invaded her bedroom without knocking to ask if she had seen the young slave. Unlike her little sister, Sansa wasn’t much concerned about Petyr. She expected that her uncle was wise enough to keep him in the slave quarters. He was probably not allowed to get out till the royal visit was over. Even though she had felt sorry for him, right now, the approval of her betrothed's family was far more important to her. Sansa was convinced that her future happiness depended on it.

“He wasn’t ours. He’s from my uncle’s household. I don’t even know his name.” Sansa lied, fumbling with her sleeves and pretending that she didn’t care and had not been utterly repulsed by Viserys treatment of the slave.

“I see.” Daenerys realized that despite her attempts to guide her, Sansa wasn’t really ready to start listening.

Perhaps she was too subtle.

“You must forgive my brother for losing his temper.”

“Oh but his highness has been noting but kind to me.” Sansa hurried to say. “He treats me very well.”

“And yet he can be horribly unreasonable at times.” Daenerys went on, pushing her to think. “He can lash out in such frightful ways at those who he brlieves has offended him, like your mother.”

“I understand why he was upset.” Sansa muttered, her voice growing smaller and feeling more and more like she was being tested for her loyalty to her future husband. “My mother should not have spoken to him in that way.”

“Even though she was right?” Daenerys looked into Sansa eyes, her purple blue eyes suddenly stern and blazing.

“I-“ Sansa gave up. She didn’t know anymore what the princess wanted her to say. It was impossible to please her. “Your highness.” She said anxiously, blurting out her greatest fear. “Do you perhaps believe that I am unworthy of your brother?”

Daenerys was taken aback by her emotional response. “What? No of course not!” Worried that her subtile words of warning had reduced the graceful girl to a huddled, injured soul on the verge of tears, Daenerys took Sansa’s hand and stroked her shoulders to calm her down. Maybe her brother was right, and she was indeed a little oversensitive. "No, no. Sansa, you are perfect. You are beautiful and kind. Truly, my brother could not wish for a better bride." Daenerys ensured her. "It's just that I want you to be happy with this marrage too."

"I am." Sansa nodded, and quickly dried her eyes, horribly embarrassed that she had let herself go in front of the princess. “I am happy. Marrying the prince is all I ever wanted. It would mean the world to me if you could give me your blessing.”

“I do.” Daenerys said, suppressing a sigh as she returned a tired smile to her.

Sansa embraced her, letting out a sigh of relief. “Thank you! Thank you Daenerys.” She whispered, this time she was weeping of joy. “You have no idea how happy you have made me. We shall be sisters soon!”

“Yes...sisters.” Daenerys hesitated, then she took Sansa’s hands in her own. "I have a gift for you from my brother."

She presented a small silver object and placed it in Sansa's palm.

"A key?"

"It's the key to my bedchamber." Daenerys explained. "I left your gift there. This allows you to retrieve it."

 “My sweet prince, he is so thoughtful. Shall we go and get it now?” Curious and excited of what the gift could possibly be, Sansa was ready to get up when Daenerys held her back.

“Be a little more patient. Wait till the afternoon.” She told Sansa. “Viserys is going to take me to pay a visit to senator Lucius Vincentius.”

“Senator Vicentius. Didn’t he recently become a widow?”

“He is in a hurry to find me a husband.” Daenerys saw in Sansa’s expression that she felt sorry for her. The senator was in his late silver years, and he and his deceased wife had only recently celebrated the birth of their oldest grand child’s child. If Viserys indeed decided that he was a good match for his sister, there would be nothing enviable about this marriage. “But never mind the reason for our visit. We shall be gone for quite some time. You could retrieve the gift while we are away. You know where the guest wing is?”

“Yes.” Sansa nodded. “In the east corridor.”

“Go pass the fountain with the dancing faun, then turn left and walk all the way till you face the altar of Hera. My room is on the left. Can you remember that?”

“I don’t understand, why can’t I just wait for you to return? You can give it to me later yourself.”

Daenerys pulled Sansa down to sit next to. “I want you to see something.” She said, her voice suddenly a whisper. “I want you to see, before you make up your mind.”

“Make up my mind about what?”

“You will understand after you have seen it. Just promise me, no matter what you decide to do afterwards, don’t directly confront my brother. I know him well. It will never work.”

 

10.

Petyr dreamt that he had left his broken, pain ravaged body behind, shedding it off as if it was no more but an old muddy coat, and that his spirit was carried away by a small black and grey woodland bird, not unlike the creature that he had once saved when he was boy. It flew away from the wooden cross to which he was bound, and escaped through the metal grid of the window out into the blue sky. Finally free of his torment, he made his way towards the hills in the north, all the way back to Rome, till he reached the temple of Athena. He flew through the marble halls, swaying between the columns, till he entered the inner sanctum, where the huge statue of the goddess stood tall and proud amid a sea of burning candles that illuminated the dark hall. The little bird, Petyr, flew up to her and perched on her shield to face her piercing emerald green eyes. To the men who worshipped her, she was already a giant, but to the little bird, she was the size of a mountain. 

“You have abandoned me.” Petyr’s voice was nothing more but a soft chirping, but the goddess who had summoned him, could understand his every word.

“I have not abandoned you, little bird.” She spoke to him without moving her painted alabaster lips.

“You left me to rot in that hellish brothel. You let my master hand me over to that tyrant Viserys to be tortured to death.”

“No little bird, I sent you Edmure Tully to release you from a miserable life of prostitution. The young tribune will help you again. He shall save you from Viserys.”

 The goddess offered him her giant hand. Still distrustful and slightly fearful of her enormous size, Petyr hesitated, but finally hopped onto her palm.

“Why would he?” Petyr replied mournfully, cocking his little head to one side to look Athena in the eyes. “He was the one who betrayed me. I am nothing to him.”

“If you have no more faith in men, then at least have faith in me. I have sworn to protect you, and I shall.”

Athena inhaled deeply, then pouted her stone lips and blew out a long breath. Petyr flapped his wings and was taken back into the air by the sudden gush of wind.

"Don't send me back, please." He chirped anxiously.

"You must return Petyr."

"I beg you, let me stay a little longer. I don't feel any pain when I am here with you."

"You can't. If you remain here too long, Hades will claim you."

"Perhaps I should let him." Petyr chirped miserably.

"The goddess gave the little bird a knowing smile. "It's hardly your time yet Petyr. Hades shall have to wait.”

She blew once more, this time creating a wind with the violent force of an autumn hurricane. It plucked Petyr from his place and sent him rolling and tumbling, with his wings flapping helplessly against the onslaught as he was sent adrift in the storm.

 

11.

As she had promised to Daenerys, Sansa waited impatiently till the princess went away with Viserys for the planned visit. When their carriage rode off the courtyard together with their entourage of slaves, guards and servants who followed on foot, she went to the east wing of the villa with the silver key in hand. When she reached the altar of Hera in the guest quarters, she found two identical doors right opposite to each other. She hesitated for a moment, then remembered that the princess’s room was at her left. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she fitted the key in the lock. It turned, and she stepped inside.

The room was dark. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn in front of the windows, the fireplace was cold and none of the oillamps were burning. Still, a large, dome shaped object that stood right next to the princess’s four poster bed caught Sansa’s eyes. It was the shining golden cloth what covered it that drew her attention. It was decorated with a blood red silk scarf, tied neatly in a bow. Although Sansa really had no idea what she was looking for, this at least looked like something that could have her promised present from the prince.

Even though she was nervous and felt a bit like a thief in the night, Sansa felt her heart beat quicken of excitement. She had always adored to receive presents, and this one was extra special to her, because it was a gift from her love. She studied the peculiar shape, and wondered what it could be.

 _There is so little light in here. I really should call the slaves to let them carry this to my room first._ But her hands were already impatiently fumbling at the knots to remove the bow.

_Maybe not._

She lifted the golden cloth. A gilded cage was revealed with inside the most gorgeous looking bird she had ever set eyes on. It had an exotic plumage with electrifying colours, of cheerful yellows and vibrant greens, with adorable cheeks the colour of ripe cherries. Even more astounding, as soon as the bird saw her, it started to speak in perfect Latin. “Princess! Beautiful princess!” It squeaked with its large hooked beak, and bobbed its head up and down as if it politely bowed to her. “My beauty, my beauty!”

Sansa was absolutely delighted. She had never received such a wonderful gift before. Viserys was so full of surprises. She laughed and clapped in her hand to encourage it to speak more, till suddenly, a strange noise came from the other side of the room. It startled her so much that she let out a shriek. Frightened by her new mistress, the bird immediately stopped talking, and jumped off its swing to hop nervously from perch to perch.

“Is someone there?” She asked hesitantly. There was a strange form in the room that she had not noticed before, something large and black, that stood right in front of the fireplace. When she looked closer, she saw that it was covered by a large black sheet, like it was some sort of bulky furniture that was no longer in use.  

She held in her breath and listened, but it remained dead quiet.

Just when Sansa thought that it was horribly silly of her to be so fearful, the black bulk moved, as if there was something stirring underneath that sheet.

She backed away in fright and almost knocked over the birdcage, scaring her new pet so much that it began to make a horrible racket as it cried out and flapped its green wings in utter panic. Then she heard a moan, long and guttural, as if someone was in a horrible pain. Spooked, she ran and was almost at the door with her hand reaching out for the handle, when she heard it again, weaker this time, followed by a most mournful whimper.

Sansa didn’t know where she found the courage, but she stopped fleeing. Slowly, hesitantly, she turned around. She walked back into the bedchamber, forcing herself to inch towards the fireplace.

_I want you to see something. I want you to see it before you make up your mind._

_Is this it?_ Sansa thought. _Is this what Daenerys wanted me to see?_

She reached out for the black cloth, whatever creature was hiding underneath stirred nervously, a like panicked animal. With her heart galloping madly inside her bosom, she pulled the sheet away.

It took a moment for Sansa to recognize him. So badly had Viserys beaten him. His face was bruised and swollen, caked with dried blood. He looked frightened and mad, but when she finally stared into his glazed grey green eyes, she knew.

She knew that it was Petyr.

“P-Please. N-no more.” He muttered fearfully through split lips. His voice was hoarse of disuse, and he immediately began to tug on the rope that looped around his neck, flinching away from her as if expecting a blow, while he frantically yanked at his restrains that held him down on the wooden cross. “I am sorry!” He pleaded, delirious with suffering, he thought that Viserys’s men had returned to torment him again. “No more. Don't push me down any further, please, don't hurt me. I won’t make another noise. I swear! I swear!”

“Petyr.” Sansa dropped the cloth at her feet. “Petyr? It’s me!” Shocked by his condition, she tried to calm him, fearing that he could harm himself if he didn’t come to his senses. “I won’t hurt you. I won’t! Look at me! Look!”

She tried to hold his head still, and gently stroked his damp curls and cheeks, like a mother would to comfort her child. After a while, he stopped trashing, and his breathing slowed down.

“D-domina.” He said, after he had finally focussed his blurred sight on her.

“Yes. Yes it’s me. Petyr what have they done to you? Who did this?”

“V-Viserys.”

Deep down, Sansa must have known, and yet the answer still stunned her. Daenerys had fooled her. This wasn’t her room, but her brother’s. This was what she wanted Sansa to see. “But why?!” She cried out, more out of frustration and fear and anger than that she expected poor Petyr to provide her with an answer. _Why!? Why did it happen?! It wasn’t fair!_ Viserys was supposed to be decent, kind and virtuous. He was supposed to be this perfect man that she was going to marry. How could fate be so cruel and make him turn out to be such a horrible monster?  

“Domina…” Petyr pleaded. He cast his eyes down and bowed his head as far as the ropes that bound his heck allowed him. Sansa followed his gaze. The spear that impaled him was crusted thick with blood.

“It hurts. It hurts so much.” He looked up pleadingly at his mistress, his whole body was shivering of agony. “Help me please. Get it out of me.”

The bird in the cage cried out an alarm call. Sansa anxiously glanced behind her. A shadow appeared underneath the door, and she heard footsteps outside in the corridor, the sounds of army boots stumping down on tiles and the rattling of armour. Viserys’s men. Some of them must have stayed on guard while their master was away.

Sansa panicked, realizing all too well that she was now trespassing in the prince’s private quarters. _I need to get out before they find me here._ She clumsily retrieved the black cloth from the floor.

“No no.” Petyr pleaded, knowing what she was about to do. “Take me with you. Don’t leave me here, I beg you.”

With a bleeding heart she threw the cover back over his head. “I am sorry.” She whispered, knowing that what she was doing was utter cowardly, but she was simply too terrified. “I can’t. I really can’t.” Even though she could no longer see him, she could hear him sob quietly beneath the cover.

She also threw the golden cloth over the bird cage, and tied back the ribbon as well as she could with shaking hands. Then she tiptoed to the door and listened carefully, waiting for the retreat of the guard’s footsteps. When they finally ebbed away, she inched the door open to a narrow crack, glimpsed around, and when she was sure there was no one there, slipped outside and made a run for it.   

 

12.

Her guilt was eating away at her as she rushed down the corridor of the east wing back to the atrium. She resented Daenerys for tricking her into Viserys’s bedchamber and showing her what his brother had done to poor Petyr. _Why does she have to do this to me?_ She thought miserably.  Why oh why did I need to see the things I saw? _It's not like I can do anything about this._ She can’t save him. How could she? She wasn’t even supposed to be there!

_Maybe I should see Viserys. He cares about me. He loves me. He will listen to me if I plead with him to let Petyr go._

 She was already halfway making up her mind about this when she remembered Daenerys’s warning.

_No matter what you decide to do afterwards, don’t directly confront my brother. I know him well. It will never work._

But what was she then supposed to do? She was Viserys's betrothed. She couldn't quarrel and stand up against him because he mistreated a slave.

_He could find me insufferable and cancel our marrage if he thinks that I have offended him. I would go from becoming the empire’s future empress tot the laughing stock of the whole of Rome! I can’t let that happen. No one would want to marry me anymore after Viserys casts me aside. I have been unlucky in finding a husband once already. People will say that I am cursed...I should just walk away from this. Why would I sacrifice my future hapiness and my honor, just fort he sake of my uncle’s slave.  
_

She halted her steps when she reached the fountain with the dancing faun. Feeling light in her head, she leaned over the edge of the small basin for support. As she gazed down, she saw that her reflection was distorted by the water cascading down the statue.

“Because it’s wrong.” She muttered, hearing her father's and mother's words in her own. "It's not right to leave him." The way Petyr had looked at her, his grey green eyes full of fear and begging for mercy, haunted her.

She couldn’t abandon him like this...but what could she do?   

 

13.

Petyr woke from his delirium with smoke stinging his eyes. Frightened, the first impuls that came to him was to once again yank at his restrains. He didn’t know where the smoke came from. The black cloth that covered him had been a blessing because it had meant some reprise from the otherwise constant abuse, but now it was a cause of anxiety, because he couldn’t see what was happening around him.

It was getting horribly hot, much more so even than when the fireplace was lit, as if the flames were just inches away from his skin. People were shouting. Voices and footfalls that sounded frantic and fearful came from outside the corridor. “Fire!” He heard someone yell. “Fire! Quickly! Gather everyone! Get water! The east wing is on fire!”

Scared, and realizing that he was in great danger, he yanked at the ropes that held him down, but he couldn’t even free himself when he was tied up after his first beating by the Germanic brute, let alone now. He tried to dislodge himself from the spear, and cried out in agony when even the slightest of movements tore at the raw flesh around it, causing his badly healed wounds to bleed again.

 _Athena._ He prayed in despair as he kept squirming and tugging at the ropes.  _Please don't let me die here. I have changed my mind. I don't want to go to Hades. Not now. Not yet. Please have mercy. Please don't abandon me like everyone else.  
_

He tried to call out for help, but his hoarse cries were soon smothered as hot smoke entered his lungs. It forced him to gasp for breath. It was like he was directly inhaling the flames from a furnace.

The heat grew truly unbearable. His vision started to spin with the lack of air. Someone pulled the cover off him. His mind was swimming on waves of pain. Petyr moaned when he was grabbed by 2 pairs of callus hands. He gazed up numbly, but he was too far gone to be able to distinguish the faces of the two men who were frantically trying to cut through his ropes to free him. He didn't respond when they took his arms and hoisted him up, but then they reached out for the spear between his buttocks. The ring of muscle split wide open when they yanked it out of him, causing a tearing jolt of utter agony. Petyr screamed as blood began to gush out and started to run thick down his weak shuddering legs. Too much in agony, he begged the men to leave him, but there was no time for such mercy, the room was ablaze. The low ceiling was engulfed in flames. The men threw the bloodied spear away and rushed to half carry, half drag him away from danger, with every movement causing him overwhelming suffering. Already on the verge of unconsciousness, Petyr soon blacked out.

 

14.

Someone was sitting by his side when Petyr finally regained consciousness.

“Domina.” He whispered. Hardly lucid, he thought he saw the shimmer of her long copper hair in the flickering light of the oillamp.

“You are awake?” The hazy figure came in focus when he moved closer to his bedside. It was Edmure.

“Dominus.” Petyr murmured. He licked his dry and cracked lips. When he tried to turn, his master put a gentle hand on his shoulder to urge him to stay down on the stone bed. “Don’t exert yourself. Maester Kym just finished stitching up all of your wounds. Move too much and you will tear everything wide open again.”

“Where –“

“You’re in your own bed, in the slave quarters.” Still drenched in cold sweat, Petyr was shivering. Concerned, Edmure stood up and pulled the sheep pelt over his shoulders to keep him warm, but Petyr nervously shook his head. His wide eyes were darting around madly. “Viserys, where is V-Viserys?”

“Don’t worry. He won’t come looking for you. I told him that everything was destroyed during the fire and nothing could be saved. He left with his sister to stay with senator Vincentius. He wasn’t particularly pleased when he left.” Edmure added with a sour smile.

“Fire?”

“It was the only way to get you out without risking the future emperor’s grudge.”

“Y-you started it?"

“I ordered it.” Edmure ran his hand over his face and gazed at Petyr. “I am sorry that I listened to Selyse. She talked me into handing you over to that sick bastard.” His eyes were full of guilt. “I never thought that he would treat you so badly. A whipping perhaps, but not this…My poor boy.” He reached out and gently caressed Petyr’s face. It hurt Edmure much more than he had expected to see him like this. He would do anything to make it up to him.

As his master stroked over his bruised cheek to comfort him, tears started to well up in Petyr’s eyes.

“Oh come on now. Hush my boy.” Edmure whispered, and took him in his arms, moving carefully to not cause him any more pain. “It's over. He won’t hurt you again.”

“I am sorry dominus.” Petyr whispered.

“Sorry for what?”

“It’s my fault. It’s my fault that you have to burn down your family home. I am sorry that I caused you so much trouble.” Petyr started sobbing. He couldn't stop himself. His spirit was broken by his horrible experience, and he was still far too traumatized to think clearly. He was so thankful to his master, so grateful that he cared for him while no one else in the world would. Whatever wrong Edmure had done was completely forgotten and forgiven.

Like Athena had foretold, Edmure Tully had saved his life.    

Moved, but not knowing how to respond, Edmure clumsily wiped Petyr's tears away with his thumb. "It's allright." He whispered. “It's just bricks and mortar. You are worth more to me than that."

And with this, any doubts Edmure still had about his actions vanished from his mind.

 

15.

Edmure only left the slave quarters when he was sure Petyr had drifted back peacefully to sleep after he had given him milk of the poppy. He found Sansa waiting for him in the corridor. 

"How is he?" She asked.

"Bruised and battered, but getting better." Edmure replied. Whatever emotion he had shown when he was caring for Petyr, none of it was visible now. “He will live.”

Sansa was clearly relieved. "Thank you uncle. Thank you for saving him."

“You don't want to go in to see him?"

Sansa shook her head. "What good would it do?"

"Right." An ugly pause followed. Edmure had not yet forgiven her. "Now remember what we agreed on. You don't speak of this to anyone." He told her firmly.

"Of course not. We will both be in trouble if I did -"

"And you won't breathe a word about what you know about Petyr and me to your aunt." Edmure interrupted her. 

Sansa knew what he was trying to say. "No uncle." She replied timidly. "I promised I won't tell."

"Good. Next time you think you need my help, I would prefer if you would not blackmail me again." Edmure snapped at her. "I am used to such practices from the low-lives in the senate, but it's hard to tolerate from my own niece." And with that said, he turned away from her and marched back to his study. 

 

 **Notes:** Thank you once again for reading this fic, please leave a comment or kudos if you liked it. I think I am going to write this fanfic as a series of short(er) stories with a general narrative arc, in a way that each chapter can be read as a stand alone, but we still have a coordinating plot. For updates, please subscribe or follow me on [**_tumblr_**](https://florineandthebluebird.tumblr.com/). Next chapter: A touch of poison...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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